


this is the first day of my life

by Cleverbreawisekylan



Category: American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst, Blind Cordelia, Comfort, F/F, No Magic AU, Pining, also stubborn Cordelia, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28914771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverbreawisekylan/pseuds/Cleverbreawisekylan
Summary: All she can think about is the line that it would cross. That stupid, frustrating professional line that she doesn’t just want to tiptoe over. She wants to take a damn run up and hurtle over said line with all her might in heartfelt confessions of love and affection
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 31
Kudos: 115





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> hey, back with the unsurprisingly long blind!Cordelia story that nobody asked for! This has taken over my life for the past three weeks so please be enjoy it. Was originally a one shot but ao3 isn't letting me post it in full so I'll split it into three.

Misty is _uncomfortable_. 

As a carer, she often sees the most vulnerable and intimate sides to a person’s life, so you think that nothing would faze her. Well, apparently that is not true. ‘Cause sitting between this mother and daughter as they argue – about _her_ , might she add - is an awfully terse setting. 

“If you are so worried about me, why didn’t you just get me a goddamn dog?!” The daughter, Cordelia, cuts the thick air with her sharp tone. She’s visibly bristles, her pride battered by the older blonde who sits back in her chair and gives a dry laugh. 

“Oh Delia, you know that I hate animals.” She idly swipes her fingers across the table. “The thought of you living alone with a disgusting, dribbling creature would keep me up at night.” 

Misty finds herself taken aback by their strange relationship. The two regard each other with bitterness and nastiness that makes her stomach churn like there’s curdled milk inside. Also, how could anyone _not_ like animals? The very idea has her brows knitting together in confusion and mouth tugging into a frown. 

Still, she sits quietly and lets them continue with their quibbles; it allows herself to take in the sight of the woman she has been hired to take care of. 

Cordelia stands primly in the room, hands clasped neatly over the top of her long cane. Her hair is a golden honey color, pulled into a tight bun to keep it out of her face and revealing a set of fresh stitches on her forehead. She frowns deeply in the direction of her mother, the corners of her lips crinkling under the tight scowl. Okay, so these two really do not like each other. 

“Instead, you hire someone to babysit me?” 

Her mother, Fiona, scoffs. “Well, I wouldn’t need to if you’d just agree to come live back at home. That way I could keep an eye on you.” 

“Live with you?” Shaking her head, Cordelia breathes out her anger like it’s steam out of her ears. “No thanks, I’d rather live with a rabid honey badger.” Then, she tensely adds. “Besides, I like living alone, Fiona.” 

“And I like having you alive.” She says as a matter of fact, leaning forward and settling an intense glower onto Cordelia. The girl doesn’t see it, however, as she is well and truly blind. 

Peering out of the corner of her eye, Misty sees those unfocused white eyes, and for the briefest of moments she almost blurts out the question of how it happened. But her training stops her. That’s a question for another day, one for Cordelia to decide when, and _if_ , it’s asked. Besides, she doesn’t think that an interruption would be welcome – although it might do something to shoo all these bad vibes out of the grand house. 

At Fiona’s words, Cordelia stumbles. Her lips part to speak but any words are halted. 

Ever so smugly, Fiona returns to her leisurely lean. “Maybe this way I won’t get any more calls from the hospital informing me that you were found unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.” 

Cordelia locks her jaw, and Misty thinks she wouldn’t be surprised to see her eyes turning red with rage. Instead, she sighs. “I’m fine, Fiona. It was just an accident.” 

“An accident that won’t happen again,” Fiona insists, “now that your helper is here.” 

Misty blinks, pulling her eyes away from where she’d been absentmindedly looking at the collection of plants lining the window sill, and turns to her employer, a rush of annoyance flooding through her at the introduction. “My name is Misty,” she corrects. 

From behind her, Cordelia smirks subtly at such an act. 

Pushing a bright smile onto her lips, Misty quickly returns to the professional she has to be. “And I’m here to make your life as easy as possible, Miss Cordelia. Not babysit you. Our aim at the center is to give you a sense of normality once again.” 

Cordelia is silent as she digests the words under the strong glower of her mother. When she doesn’t reply, Misty takes it all in her stride. It’s often like this, at first – someone losing their sight so suddenly, It's kinda like a grieving process. A process that she aims to help them with, even when the denial is undeniably strong. 

And said denial is radiating off her so hard that it might be enough to knock Misty out of her chair. Just to be sure, the Cajun finds herself gripping to the smooth ends of the cold table to anchor herself. 

“It’s always a little weird at first,” she admits, “but it really does help.” 

She’s smiling softer now, hoping that Cordelia can sense it, because yes, this is a job for her. But she does _want_ to help. Helping is her calling in life. 

Eventually, Cordelia relents under both gazes; one accepting and gentle, the other authoritative. 

Cordelia does, however, have one rhetorical jumping from her lips. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” 

“Finally,” Fiona grins wickedly, “you’re learning.” 

It’s not long before the older blonde is bidding her goodbye, pulling Cordelia into a tense hug and whispering something in her ear. As she walks past Misty, she gives her a smile that she can’t quite decipher and a pat on her head. “Happy helping,” she leers. 

And then it’s just the two of them, stood awkwardly in the kitchen together. 

She rolls on the balls of her feet nervously. 

“So, your mom didn’t really introduce me properly.” Misty moves forward hurriedly, knocking a chair on the way and startling Cordelia. “Sorry.” She mumbles sheepishly. “I will try my best not to scare you to death on my first day.” 

Cordelia barely smiles. 

“I’m Misty day.” She announces tenderly, almost going to reach out to take the woman’s hand before mentally stopping herself. _You_ _gotta_ _let her know first._ “I’m goin’ to take your hand.” Normally she would ask, and she isn’t sure why she doesn’t, but now she’s taking holding of one of those hands in both of hers, cradling it. Cordelia doesn’t stop her, so she proceeds. “I’m really pleased to meet you.” 

“Cordelia Goode.” Her curt reply comes. The way she speaks is wrapped in a cloak of assured confidence, and Misty wonders what lurks beneath. 

Nodding, she peers down to their clasped hands and quickly pulls away, forgetting that she’d done that. Cordelia returns it to her cane, then sighs. “I’m sorry that Fiona has dragged you into this – I'm fine, really. I can manage just well on my own.” 

“I’m sure you can.” Misty says, “but there ain’t anything wrong with having a little help in life. Where would Simba be if Timone and Pumba hadn’t helped him?” 

Cordelia turns to fully face Misty’s direction now, forehead scrunching together, as does her nose, but her lips twitch and the corners perk up. “Are you talking about the _Lion King_?” She is tilting her head now, regarding her bizarrely. 

“Sure am. We should watch it some time.” She shrugs, “although the original – can't watch the new one. Those lions are too realistic and Mufasa’s death scene is truly awful.” 

The smile grows. 

Then is washed away like sand on a beach. “I’m afraid I won’t be watching very much of anything, Misty.” 

But she persists, an effervescence and bounce to her words that she hopes are putting her new client at ease. First meetings can nerve wrecking. “Well, not with that attitude,” she laughs. Misty crosses the room to where her few things are stacked in the corner. “Anyway, would you mind showing me to my room? The quicker I can unpack, the faster we can have dinner and I am _ravished_.” 

Cordelia is regarding her with mouth agape unsurely, yet her cheeks flush and there’s a humorful incredulity to her expression. “Um, s-sure.” Her cool confidence sways briefly, though quickly returns as she begins to lead her upstairs. Each step is a display of her independence, the cane loudly announcing any obstacles in her way. Even if she has the occasional trip and stumble, Misty is impressed by her persistence. 

Not before long, they stop in front of a closed door. It takes Cordelia a few moments to find the handle, twisting it and nodding for Misty to go inside. 

“Wow,” she breathes, “it’s beautiful in here, Miss Cordelia.” 

“Thank you, Misty.” She hesitates at the door, using the frame to steady herself and keep her bearings. “My room is just next door, and the bathroom is down the hall.” There’s a long pause, as though she’s arguing inside her head and relenting to the situation that she clearly doesn’t want. “I guess I’ll show you the rest of the house after we’ve eaten.” 

“Sounds good to me. Where are you gonna be?” 

Cordelia balks, clearly annoyed. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to invade your privacy. Just kinda have to know where you are. You know, to do my job.” 

“I’ll be downstairs.” She begins tersely. “And don’t worry, I can walk down them just fine.” 

“Never said you couldn’t.” Misty counters. 

Even so, as Cordelia retreats she finds herself peering out of the door threshold and just making sure that she’s fine as she tiptoes down the stairs, clutching both the wall and the banister for safety. Misty watches for longer than she probably should, returning herself from her daze with a light shake of the head and returning to her room. 

… 

The smell of food lures her out not soon after, confusion bubbling alongside her hunger. 

She finds the kitchen easily, eyes widening in surprise as she sees Cordelia leaning over a pot and stirring the insides slowly, clearly taking extra care not to spill its content. Despite that, Misty can see some of the sauce has escaped and now singes against the edges. 

“Hi, Miss Cordelia,” she announces from the door, halting Cordelia’s pretty humming. 

_“_ Hello _.”_

She pads further into the room, wrapping her shawl higher around her shoulders and peering around at the mess that’s left in the other woman’s quake. “I thought I was makin’ dinner?” she questions. 

“I am fully capable of cooking, thank you.” 

“You know that you don’t have anythin’ to prove. I told you that I’m here to help – not take over your life.” 

“I like to cook.” Cordelia insists, lips pressed into a firm line. Misty observes her as she feels for the two dishes on the side before slowly sharing the pasta between the both of them. When it looks like most of it is going to miss one, Misty ever so quietly nudges the furthest dish into the perfect position. 

“Do you want me to carry them to the table?” she offers, watching with amusement. 

“I can do it.” 

And she does, one at a time, with incredibly delicate movements and her free hand reaching for the surface. 

She doesn’t even let her get her own cutlery, and blindly feels for it in the drawer. Misty laughs airily at the proud smile that graces her lips when the task is complete. “You’re really stubborn, you know that?” She says, jokingly so. 

Cordelia gives pause, lifting her head in the general direction of Misty’s voice. “If that’s another word for capable, then yes I am.” 

Her smile widens. She _likes_ this woman. 

“I don’t wanna hurt your pride, but is it okay if I make myself a glass of water?” 

There’s a hesitant nod, and after a few moments of navigating the novel kitchen, she sets down two full glasses in front of them. “I got one for you – it's just in front of your right hand.” 

“Thank you.” Cordelia says after a beat. 

Misty is already stuffing her face with the pasta, the appreciative chorus of noises following not long after. “This is really good.” She announces, then pauses mid mouthful as she spies Cordelia merely pushing the food around her plate in disinterest. “You not hungry?” 

“I guess not.” She mumbles in a way that leaves Misty unconvinced. It’s their first day together, though, so she decides not to push. 

She straightens in her chair, blue eyes set softly on Cordelia. “So, what do you like to do for fun?” 

The question catches her off guard, and she frowns in thought. “Fun?” 

“Yeah,” she smiles easily. “Like hobbies ‘n stuff?” She shoves another forkful of pasta in her mouth, licking the stray sauce that falls onto her chin. All the time, her eyes never leave the woman sat across from her. 

“I used to do lots of things.” Cordelia admits sadly. “Reading, gardening, playing the piano.” 

Her ears prick up. “Oh, you like music?” 

Cordelia nods. 

“Good, ‘cause I brought my entire CD collection with me and I have some amazin’ stuff. You’ll love it.” 

For the first time since meeting her, Cordelia _finally_ looks at ease, relaxing in the spot. 

“How long have you been doing this?” 

“This job?” The older blonde gives a quiet yes, then waits for a reply. “Um, a few years now. You are the fourth person I’ve worked for.” 

Her lips twist unsurely. “Don’t you find it weird? Living with a stranger?” 

Misty brushes the concern off easily. “Nah, I can make talk with practically anyone. Once you find out what makes a person tick, you’re onto a winner.” 

Cordelia blinks, peering in her direction and though Misty is staring back at those blank eyes, she feels her skin prickle. It’s as though the woman can see right into her soul for those few moments, and she’s trying to figure her out. Which she knows is well and truly impossible, but the way her cheeks flush with heat is _real_. Then she’s smiling, a simple action that seems to push all the stress and worry from the corners of her features. 

To her own surprise, Misty finds herself thinking how pretty she looks when she smiles. 

… 

“So, how does this work?” Cordelia asks her on their way to each respective bedroom for the night. “You’re not going to come and wake me up in the morning, are you?” 

She grins. “Not unless you want me to.” 

The blonde shakes her head with a smile. “Seriously, Misty, what should I be expecting here? Fiona naturally didn’t really explain anything and just showed up with you on my doorstep like some stray kitten.” 

Cordelia’s analogy has her chuckling, and she follows her toward her room out of habit. “Like I said before. I will help you with general day to day stuff. Groceries, chores, anythin’ like that. And if it’s alright with you, I ain’t so bad in the kitchen. We could take turns in making dinner.” 

It’s a tentative step, almost an olive branch that she delicately holds out. To her relief, Cordelia eventually reaches for it with a soft sigh. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” 

“Great. I make a mean lasagne.” She rolls on the balls of her feet. “I work every day ‘cept Friday night which I get to do what I like. Other than that, I’m at your complete disposal.” 

Misty finds herself staring intensely toward the older blonde, stomach knotting at her indecipherable expression. 

When the silence becomes all too long, she adds, “also, I suppose that part of my job is companionship, ya know? Someone to talk to.” 

She raises an eyebrow, lips setting with distaste. "Like a therapist?” 

“Like a _friend_ ,” Misty corrects. 

And then Cordelia is suddenly laughing, ruefully so, and lowering her head into her hand. 

Heart seizing in panic, she is quick to question her. 

“No, no, It's not you.” Cordelia finishes the last laugh with a raspy breath. “It’s just, I'm thirty and my mother is paying someone to be my friend.” She peers down, chewing nervously on her lower lip, something that Misty finds herself watching much longer than she thinks is acceptable. “How sad is that?” 

Misty’s gaze grows with intensity, her sympathy reaching out to the woman in front of her. She has no idea what she’s been through, but she’s clearly not thrilled at the idea of Misty’s presence - if anything, it seems to be knocking her confidence even more. 

She lifts a hand, catching herself before it makes contact with Cordelia’s arm. Pulse steadily building, she asks. “Can I hug you?” 

To her surprise, there is very little time between question and answer, and within the next few second she’s pulling the discouraged woman into her embrace. She smells like sweet vanilla and roses, and warmth floods from her every pore, wrapping around Misty. “It’s not sad.” she insists, breathing in her touch, “don’t ever believe that. Everybody needs someone.” 

Cordelia seems to hold onto her tighter at that, hot breath tickling against Misty’s neck as it hitches out of her throat. 

The embrace lasts for longer than she expects, yet no complaints follow. Misty enjoys the way that the smaller woman appears to fit perfectly in her arms, still and relaxed, and oh so close. She wonders if she strains her ears would she be able to hear Cordelia’s heartbeat? Would it beat in time with her own? 

But these thoughts are tugged away and hidden deep inside her mind when heat leads way to cold, hands falling down limply at her sides. Pausing, Cordelia offers her a melancholy smile, saying thank you without words. 

Misty only wishes the woman could see her own expression. “Goodnight.” She says, “I’ll see you in the morning. And that’s definitely a no on the wake up call?” 

Biting her lower lip, Cordelia laughs. “No wake up calls.” Reaching out slowly, she finds the handle to her bedroom door easily, unfazed by the way she looks strangely flustered, pink crawling up her neck. “Sleep well.” 

The Cajun waits for her to go inside, only managing to breathe once she’s gone. 

… 

Misty wakes with the sun the next morning, admiring the way it sneaks through the blinds and catches the corners of the room in the most awesome way. It brings with it a steady warmth, even so early, and as she steps outside, Misty bathes in its sparkling rays. The trip to the store is quick, quiet and pleasant. She hums _Fleetwood Mac_ songs to herself as she carefully places an array of items into the cart. 

With a bounce in her step, she soon has it all in the trunk, pausing to admire two birds that flutter from the swinging trees in their own morning dance. 

Cordelia is just waking up as she returns, her hair tangled and twisted atop her head. Wrapped around her slim frame is a thin, silk gown, and Misty has to avert her eyes as it falls loose with each step. 

“Have you got bags with you?” She asks curiously, focus on her face as she tries to pinpoint said particular noise. 

Placing said bags on the counter, Misty gives a satisfied sigh. “Sure have.” She uses the back of her hand to wipe the sweat on her forehead away, cursing the already sweltering day. “You mind if I open a window?” 

“Go ahead.” Cordelia seems relieved by the suggestion. “Have you had breakfast?” 

“Just an apple.” She says, beginning to tie her hair up messily atop her head before returning to her purchases. 

By now, the older blonde has felt her way around the room and stands with the refrigerator open. “Do you want anything else?” 

Misty turns to her with a delighted grin. “I’ll never say no to food.” She watches as Cordelia delicately takes a pack of eggs out, carrying them with as much care as one would a new born. With probing fingers, she eventually places them on the counter and fumbles for a pan. Happy with just watching from the corners of her eyes, Misty begins pulling out the carpets and packets of screws in the first bag. “Did you sleep okay?” She asks, wanting to fill the space with something other than the pair’s clattering. 

Cordelia hums her yes, “did you? I know it’s hard sometimes in an unfamiliar place.” Misty smiles at the concern, glad that Cordelia seems to appear more open minded than she had the day previously. 

“Yeah actually, better than I have in months.” 

She seems content with that answer, busying herself with the task once more. Misty finds herself observing once more the way she so determinedly throws herself into cooking, lips tight and cheeks puffing in concentration. It’s as though she’s forgotten she has an audience. 

Her hand hovers over the now sizzling pan, feeling for the source of heat before she clumsily cracks an egg into it. 

“Where did you head off to so early?” she turns her head, voice holding the note of accusing, though not in a bad way. 

“Just to the store. If it’s alright with you, I’ve got a couple of things for the house that would help you get around a bit easier.” 

And that’s when the room shifts. What moments ago could have been two friends slowly starting their day now is noticeably tenser. Cordelia stiffens, her fingers clutching tightly at the spatula as Misty reminds her that she isn’t there on some social call; she’s a carer hired by her own mother. 

She swallows whatever words were lingering in her mouth, then tilts her head towards Misty. “If you must.” 

They leave it at that. It’s an approval, she supposes, but the hurt that crosses Cordelia’s expression has Misty’s stomach wringing in knots. She’s almost ready to cross the room and pull her into a hug again, but she doesn’t. All she can do is watch the older woman struggle to hide the anguish in her features. 

It lingers for longer than she likes, but soon she’s pushing a plate of eggs and toast toward Misty on the counter, not noticing as it goes precariously to the edge. Misty’s nimble fingers catch it just in time. She finds the cutlery faster than she’d found the glasses last night, soon sitting down to eat. “Thanks, Miss Cordelia.” 

Any tension between them seems to settle then, melting as snow does against the tepid, winter sun. 

“You can just call me Cordelia.” She says softly. “The miss is kinda weird.” 

“Okay.” Misty smiles around a mouthful of toast. 

The rest of the morning goes off without a hitch, other than Cordelia dropping some eggs on the floor. Naturally, she doesn’t let Misty help clean it up, but the Cajun insists on at least washing her dirty plate. 

“I’m not here to be a freeloader,” she jokes as she brushes past her. 

And a freeloader she is not. The majority of her day is spent adding rails around the house, first and foremost on the stairs. With her music a constant companion, the work is carried out easily, proudly admired much later. She lays small rugs as markers to steps and room changes, then uses raised bumps to help differentiate between the appliances. 

Soon she’s completing the last of the extra railings on stairs and stepping back to admire her work. 

She’s a sweaty mess by the time she’s finished, placing her drill and tools away neatly in her room. Cordelia greets her with an ice cold lemonade, one that she’s managed to spill all along the counter top. Misty doesn’t tell her, however, but instead cleans it away with a smile as the older blonde is distracted. 

When she shows her the new home improvements, she mentally prepares for the wistful energy to surge around them again, all sad and self-deprecating. The thought almost fills her with dread. But with Cordelia is clearly fighting a grateful smile, and Misty doesn’t win the battle against her own that grows gleefully. 

… 

Cordelia is easy to live with, she decides - probably the easiest person she’s ever worked for. Her last client had been a kind ninety four year old lady who struggled getting anywhere by herself and even needed help getting into the _bath_ , so this is definitely a jump. 

The main reason being that Cordelia . . . well, she appears to be in complete denial that she needs any help whatsoever, and more so, in denial that she is completely blind. She carries her cane most of the time, though only for show. It only goes to use when the older blonde trips over an unexpected obstacle, anger flaring through her nostrils and cheeks flushing in embarrassment. 

Misty never tells her that she notices when it happens; she just makes a note of said obstacle and works on making the house as blind friendly as possible. 

... 

The kitchen is her favorite room in the entire house. It’s a beautifully modern room, with a small nook against large bay windows and a set of French doors that leads into the garden. Usually, they keep them wide open and lets the summer breeze spread around them. Plus, as Cordelia so dryly puts it, it’s one less thing for her to walk into. 

Today, she stands in the doorway against the rising sun and watches Cordelia amongst many plants in the garden, currently running her fingers against a vibrant buddleia. She leans in, eyes closing and drawing in a long breath with a smile. 

Misty smiles, too. 

They’re beginning to settle into their second week together and this is the most content she’s seen the older blonde. 

Her legs are suddenly in motion, carrying her over to the scene without command – they merely seem drawn without understanding. She slows as she nears, enjoying the way the long grass feels under her bare feet. “Hey, Cordelia.” She greets, "it’s me, Misty.” 

Cordelia doesn’t tense at the interruption as she has done the past week, but appears to lighten instead, one corner of her mouth tugging upwards. “I know,” she laughs gently, twisting to face where Misty’s stands rolling on the balls of her feet. 

She’s about to tell her that she’s _supposed_ to announce it’s her, but every time she brings up anything related to her job, Cordelia goes into the foulest of moods. 

So, she only chuckles. “Yeah, guess the accent gives it away.” 

“Just a bit.” 

As the quiet washes in, Misty takes the moment to absorb in the beautiful scenery, admiring every foot of the expansive space. How she wishes she’d had access to something like this all her life, just to herself. As a child, she’d more often than not slipped away from church and spent the morning gallivanting around the woods near her home. 

Just being surrounded by nature calms every nerve in her body, planting the most content of expressions over her delicate features. 

From the looks of it, Cordelia seems to be having a similar experience. She pauses, though, a thin hand still curling around the luscious green stems. “Are you here to check up on me?” She asks slyly, “give Fiona a report?” 

Misty huffs, muscles growing tight and then scoffing haughtily. “No.” She grumbles. “Believe it or not, I just wanted to see what you were doin’” 

“Right.” Her clear disbelief has Misty fizzing with annoyance, and though she tries her best to make it subside, it lies dormant within. 

The more mature side of her takes rein, reaching out to graze over the same plant that Cordelia is admiring. “Nice garden,” she comments, squinting against the bright sun. “Did you plant these yourself?” 

Cordelia shakes her head softly. “No, they were here when I moved in. The garden is actually one of the reasons I chose this house.” 

That has Misty tilting her head and grinning over at Cordelia. 

“Must be a big job looking after this place.” She comments, eyeing the expanse of shrubs and flower beds. 

With a shrug, Cordelia purses her lips. “It gives me something to do, especially now.” 

She seems more than happy to let her gloomy cloud hang over her and drown in her own pity, but Misty uses all her might to push it from her path and send it out of the garden. 

“Would be real nice if I could give you a hand out here. My momma taught me all I know about gardenin’ - I’ve never really been in a place where I could put it into practise.” 

There’s a tense moment where she wonders which way Cordelia is going to go, and she prays above that she doesn’t take it the wrong way. Truth is, there isn’t all that much work to do when you live with the most stubborn woman alive; she can at least make herself useful this way. 

She doesn’t knock her back straight away, instead allowing her features to twist in contemplation. Misty spies her own reflection staring back in Cordelia’s sunglasses – hopeful and nervous. Turning away, she focuses her ocean blue eyes on the squirrel currently sprinting across the lawn. 

“I guess you can help.” 

Her head spins so quickly that she thinks it might stop and she’ll end up looking like that girl for _the exorcist._ Thankfully, it comes to an abrupt halt at it catches the half smile on Cordelia’s lips. 

She beams. “Really?” Misty then clears her throat. “I ain’t tryin’ to overstep or anythin’ - I just think It'll be fun.” 

“I know,” she laughs. “Plants are hard work. No one would willingly offer unless they were actually interested.” 

“That they are,” she agrees all too eagerly. “Have you always liked them?” 

Cordelia nods, hair falling free from her loose bun. “Ever since I was a child. I know it sounds sad, but I didn’t really get along with other kids, so I’d spend my afternoons in the greenhouse with the garden staff. Plus, it got me away from Fiona.” 

Misty finds herself liking this woman the more time she spends with her, in spite of her infuriating determination and denial. There’s something about her that draws Misty like a moth to a flame, and she’s ready to dive head first into said flame. 

“You must know an awful lot then.” 

Her voice doesn’t falter, not does it brim with overconfidence. “I know enough.” 

They fall into a silence that no longer holds the essence of uncomfortableness as previously, as though Cordelia is beginning to accept her presence. The notion has Misty’s being feeling all too light and carefree. 

She feels all too at home out here, with floral scents and Cordelia’s warm aura. “So,” Cordelia seems to decide something, shaking off a sudden shyness. “I could give you a tour, if you like?” 

She blinks. “Of your garden?” 

The prettiest of laughs tumbles over Cordelia’s lips, that Misty finds herself staring at without realizing why. “Yeah, if you like.” 

“I’d love that.” Her words are surprisingly quiet, but grateful. 

Cordelia’s smile is very much the same. 

She releases her hold of the plant and reaches out for Misty’s hand instead, leaving it outstretched in the warm summer air. Misty hesitates, “can I . . .?” 

There’s no need to finish the sentence, ‘cause Cordelia is laughing at her like she’s said something silly, though not in a nasty way. 

“I wouldn’t be offering if you couldn’t." 

Misty quickly takes the hand with no further question, trying not to focus on how it feels as soft as a cloud against her own. 

And she lets Cordelia lead her, certain it’s supposed to be the other way around, but too distracted to care. To her credit, the older blonde easily points out the nearby species of plant, often alongside a fact and Latin names that make Misty peer at her in a whole new light. 

She briefly considers what Cordelia used to work as, then places that question away in a box of many others for another time. 

With fingers clasped around hers, she experiences a warmth that she convinces herself is from the beating sunshine. They slow near the rear of the garden, and she watches with a growing frown as Cordelia seems to battle with a dangerous concoction of anger, upset and betrayal. It has every hair on Misty’s body standing erect in unnerve. 

“There are some roses around here,” she chokes out, “that Hank insisted on putting in here.” 

“Oh.” She nods dumbly, inwardly cursing herself for such a lame response. The entire time her mind is screaming _who is Hank?_

Clearly not someone of happy memories, as Cordelia is scowling and shaking simultaneously. “I tried to take them out, but . . . well, it didn’t go as planned.” 

And that’s when Misty sees the mangled plant to their right, sitting in a state of disrepair and what’s left of it wilting sadly. _A_ _h_. 

She pretends that seeing a living thing so bruised and battered doesn’t upset her, seeing as Cordelia is clearly having some emotion crisis. Misty is inundated with curiosity, and inquires before she gets the chance to filter her questions. “How did you know him?” She certainly doesn’t remember a Hank being mentioned in her job interview. 

“He’s my ex – fiancé." 

Misty concludes there and then that she doesn’t like this Hank. 

“And he’s the reason that I’m blind.” 

“ _What_?” she splutters out in surprise. 

Cordelia returns to holding tension down to her very fingertips, no longer the carefree soul who’d be tending to the plants. “Break up gone wrong.” She gives as way of an answer, which leaves Misty only needing more. Unfortunately, there is a line, and she knows that crossing it by probing further is the worst thing she could do. 

She doesn’t know what to say, which is a rare occurrence for her. What she does know is that her heart is reaching out to comfort Cordelia in an instant, if she wants it or not. Her horror has quickly turned to the uttermost sympathy. 

With watery eyes, she squeezes Cordelia’s hand instead. ”I’m real sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” Emotion seems to have seeped out of every word. “You didn’t do it.” 

Though she can’t see Misty’s face, she seems to be able to read the change in her behaviour, suddenly clearing her throat with a frown. “Come on,” she tries, all too ready to relift the mood. “Let’s keep going.” 

Misty, becoming overwhelmed with her dizzying thoughts, lets Cordelia finish their lap around the garden. All names and facts now fly right over the wavy hair on her head, ‘cause all she’s considering is that this woman was once engaged, and the very person she was engaged to _hurt_ her. 

Suddenly all her denial begins to make more sense than ever before. 

She feels herself clutching onto those fingers harder, almost protectively, hoping not to let Cordelia see the way she silently seethes. 

Later that day, with Cordelia’s permission, she rips out each of the roses (her anger consuming any passing thought about her causing harm to the plants) and she burns them against the hazy, orange sun. 

“Roses are overrated anyway,” she comments to Cordelia who lingers in the kitchen doorway, having listened to her grumble and curse over pulling out the thorny plants for the past twenty minutes. 

The older blonde gives her a blindingly genuine smile, one that cuts right through Misty’s soul. Her head ducks, sucking in a thoughtful breath. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. . .” 

Misty’s eyes are dark and affirmative. “Yeah, I did.” 

… 

She doesn’t sleep that night, her mind heavy with hypothetical thoughts and situations that makes her insides ache with chronic upset. Cordelia’s abrupt confessions has played a number on her, and she’s always been one to get overinvested. 

Misty thinks and she worries, and she sits with fingernails clawing so hard into her palms that they break the skin. And when she’s done that, she frets some more. Her mind dares to wonder what Cordelia had been like before all of this, before her life was so unexpectedly thrown in a different direction. 

Lungs heaving in a long sigh despite the pain in her chest, she throws the covers fitfully from her body and trudges downstairs. Maybe some fresh air will help. Her footsteps sound more exaggerated in the still house, causing her to wince in panic that she might wake Cordelia; a glance to the clock shows it’s way into the early hours. 

But that isn’t something that she needs to consider, apparently. The door to the yard is ajar, allowing moonlight to climb through the small gap and tiptoe into the kitchen. Brows knitting together into a confused line, she follows the sign of life. 

Even now, the night air doesn’t send a chill through her body, only embracing her with warm arms like she’s meant to be there right now. Misty lets her eyes adjust to the twilight sky, breathing in the sight of stars greeting her with a pretty twinkle. The air is slow other than the trepid way it crawls through the foliage. 

All in all, a perfect night. 

Yet her attention is drawn from the picturesque scene before her to the dark figure hunched not too far away. In an instant, she springs into movement, her toes catching dry grass underneath them. 

“Delia?” she dares to ask to the back of the silhouette, slowing when she’s a few paces away. 

She startles, twisting her neck slightly to reveal skin tainted with lasting tears that shine in the moonlight. That same light catches every line of Cordelia’s face, and Misty breathes in the expression she’s never seen before with an increasing pit in her stomach. 

Sniffling, she speaks after the longest of moments. “Misty, it’s late.” 

The melancholy that weeps off of the woman finds Misty, tugging her into its suffocating presence. She steps closer, resisting the urge to sweep her into a hug. 

“I should be sayin’ the same to you,” she says with the intention of humor, though her voice doesn’t get the memo and it comes out real morose. 

Cordelia does her best impression of a statue, like one of those ones in museums that all the folk gather around and discuss the meaning of the piece with eclectic clothes and pretentious words. Misty doesn’t need any of those things. 

She knows heartbreak when she sees it. 

Somewhere within the trees, she catches the faint hooting of an owl, and if she squints, she thinks she could see the shiny reflection of nocturnal eyes. But she finds that Cordelia is holding her gaze, like the finest piece of art she’s ever seen. 

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” 

There’s a shudder in her shoulders and a tremble in her chin as she holds back her emotions. 

Misty feels her own eyes well in empathy. 

When she finds the other blonde still struggling with a response, she makes to sit down beside her, legs crossing easily. A hand runs through the grass, eyeing the weeds beginning to push through the brown blades. 

Beside her, Cordelia shifts. “Why are you out here?” It’s not accusing, just plain. One could even say there’s the hint of curiosity edging her words. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” she mumbles. 

“Yeah . . . me either.” 

She stares at her for maybe longer than she should, eyes migrating over the sloping lines of her chin, to her plump lips, all the way to the sunglasses covering her eyes. Misty ducks her head, suddenly feeling strange inside. “You wanna talk about it?” 

A dry laugh follows, straining against her throat. “You take this friend thing really seriously, don’t you?” 

“Sometimes just talkin’ does you the world of good.” 

Cordelia doesn’t agree, nor does she disagree, so Misty finds her spirits lifting. This woman may be more closed off than she’s used to, but there’s the sense of progress there. 

She cranes her head upwards, allowing Misty sight of her long neck. Around it, she wears a pretty necklace that Misty remembers her saying belonged to her grandmother – she'd then been quick to let her know that it was a pity present from her mother. 

Still, she wears it, and it looks awfully beautiful on her. 

In that moment, Misty can’t help thinking _she_ looks beautiful, tears tracks and all. 

“I was thinking about Hank.” 

_Oh_. 

Despite the relaxing night, the world around them suddenly becomes far more seriousness, words more delicate and air growing thicker in both their lungs. Misty senses more hanging on Cordelia’s lips, so she waits, correctly so. 

She watches as her mouth tugs into a tight line, anger unmistakable. “I was thinking about hurting him. I want to hurt him _so_ much – I want to bash his evil little face in until there’s nothing left.” The words are spat out, chest heaving with rage. Misty knows that feeling all too well. 

There are fresh tears now, following the path of their predecessors and rolling down her cheek. This is when Misty inches dangerous close, until her arm is touching Cordelia’s with a buzz of electricity. Cordelia shivers again, and she reacts without thinking, tugging off her shawl and beginning to hover it over her shoulders. 

“Can I?” Why is her voice so _nervous_? 

She nods. “Thank you.” The reply is curt, but her lips twitch with a smile briefly. Thin fingers curl around the ends of the shawl and tug it tighter around her body in a comforting manner. 

And when the quiet follows this time, there’s an air of calm about it. 

That is until Misty blurts out a question that’s been boring into her mind for the past few hours. 

“What happened?” 

It takes Cordelia stiffening for her to realize how inappropriate it is to just outright ask, but the damage is already done and she’s left mumbling out apologies. Over her outward cursing of her own nosiness, the older blonde put her at ease with a soft, “it’s okay.” 

Misty blinks, throat tightening. “I don’t mean to pry,” she explains, “I just . . .” And that’s where words fail her, ’cause it’s none of her business really, but she wants to know. Only, saying that out loud makes her feel like a terribly interfering person. 

Cordelia voice is reassuring, encouraging; for a brief moment she wonders how the roles got reversed. “Don’t worry about it.” 

This leaves Misty waiting on baited breath, mind moving at a mile a minute until Cordelia stills it with her answer. 

“I broke up with him,” she says just as the silence becomes strained, “I called off the wedding when I realized we weren’t happy. We were just. . . settled, I guess.” Her fingers anxiously tug at the stray tassels on Misty’s shawl. “I’ve never seen him so angry before.” 

Misty’s stomach twists tightly, bordering on nausea as she listens intently. 

“But I packed his stuff and kicked him out - and I thought that was that. . .” Her sniffles have become open cries now, and they only pause as Misty asks if she can place a comforting hand on Cordelia, which soon rubs up and down her arm in what she hopes is a soothing movement. 

“I was out one night, with my friends . . . I don’t know, maybe a couple of months afterwards.” She suddenly gives a laugh, humor replaced with deep pain at the memory. “He was there, waiting for me.” Her face pales even further, mimicking the purest of whites. “And then when I was alone, he. . . he threw acid in my face. He said if he can't have me, then no one else can.” 

There’s a gasp that follows, that she only realizes is hers as she spies Cordelia’s closed lips, the same ones that are trying to hold back an onslaught of sobs. When Misty’s arms snake around her shoulders (she forgets to ask this time), they quickly fail and she cries out into the still air. 

Turning, she presses into Misty’s shoulder. Her sunglasses promptly get in the way, earning a disgruntled sob before they’re thrown to the floor and she’s free to nestle against the Cajun once more. 

A series of comforting coos sound from Misty, and she holds her so tightly that she fears she might push the air from within her. She doesn’t know what to say, so she just hopes the way she embraces her dearly says it all for her. 

Eventually, cries turn to quiet whimpers, then ragged breaths. Cordelia closes her eyes, nothing short of worn. “Your voice is really soothing,” she confesses against Misty’s baggy sleep shirt, seeming all too out of it to know what she’s saying. 

She doesn’t catch the way Misty brightens at that, half smiling down toward her. It doesn’t last long as the reality of their situation settles back in. “I’m real sorry, Cordelia.” She says for the second time that night, fully aware that the woman must be sick of apologies by now. 

If she is, she doesn’t say. She nuzzles in impossibly close, as though they’re friends who’ve known each other for much long than the couple of weeks they have, and Misty responds with her own need her for closeness. The Cajun tries not to think how she can smell the coconut shampoo wafting from her soft locks, or the heat of her breath against her skin. 

She merely sits with her until she pulls back with a muffled yawn and utters something about sleep. The conversation has a stopper placed in it, but she feels all too relieved to have been involved in it, even if it’s left her emotionally spent. 

As she’s helping Cordelia to her feet, she sets a puzzled look upon her. “You’re all covered in dirt,” she points out, bringing attention to her hands and nightgown. 

Cordelia grows shy, moving toward the cusp of defensive. Fingers clasp around her cane. “I tripped on a rock on the way out here and fell over.” She looks as though she’s ready to hear some overprotective statement but Misty only starts to chuckle. 

“I’ll save ya from any rocks on the way in.” 

A smile readily makes it way to Cordelia’s lips. She begins to pull the shawl from her shoulders, met with instant protests from Misty. 

... 

She carries the grocery bags awkwardly between her arms, all but throwing them onto the counter. “Delia, I’m back!” she shouts loudly, having not seen the woman since her return a few minutes ago. 

As she’s placing an array of items away in the refrigerator, she snacks on a pile of grapes at the same time. Not soon after, her ears pick up the sound of Cordelia’s cane batting against distant surfaces. She appears with a hand groping the wall to keep her steady, and she’s smiling softly. “Did you get everything on my list?” 

“Yeah,” Misty says without looking up from her actions. “I had to ask someone where Gruyère cheese was – I ain’t even heard of that stuff.” 

Cordelia’s jaw falls slightly in surprise. “But it’s so _good_.” 

She feels her lips twisting playfully. “So is normal cheese.” 

The chuckles that follow makes Misty’s heart flutter without warning. She quickly busies herself with her work and aims to forget about it. 

“Where do you want all your bathroom stuff?” 

She smirks, “the bathroom would be ideal.” 

Misty’s eyes narrow playfully. “Har, har. I ain’t about to barge in on a lady’s bathroom, and you normally insist on taking that stuff yourself.” 

The older blonde mocks annoyance. “I don’t _insist_.” 

“Yeah, you do,” she laughs, finding herself closer than she’d realized as she spins and finds Cordelia _right_ behind her. “Um, I can take it up for you though? Leave it on your bed?” 

“I’ll come with you, show you where I put everything.” 

A grin spreads across her lips, seeing as both are perfectly aware that Misty knows the way that Cordelia’s toiletries are organized. Still, she keeps that certain thought to herself. “Okay, do you want me to lead you?” 

She asks out of habit, even after so many weeks. Usually, Cordelia declines, but today she gives a small nod. 

The surprise is shaken off with ease. “I’m gonna take your hand.” She explains, reaching out for what Cordelia is already offering up, and missing the pensive gaze that tugs at her features. 

... 

“Why do you do that?” 

Misty blinks, confused by the sudden question. 

When she turns to her, Cordelia is grinning from ear to ear, fingers idly touching the ends of her hair. 

“Tell me that you’re going to touch me.” 

She gives pause, sucking in a sharp breath, and then answers, “it’s just protocol.” 

Cordelia changes like a switch, unable to hide her sudden upset. “With blind people?” 

“Yeah,” she says honestly, “I’m always meant to tell you so that you don’t get surprised.” Which, as Misty things about it, seems to be an awful _lot_ of times during each and every day. 

The room succumbs to a long and tense silence, one of those ones where Cordelia disappears into the safety of her mind and leaves Misty’s own thoughts reeling. 

Eventually, she breaks the thick air with a decisive, “you don’t have to.” 

“What?” 

“You don’t have to ask permission to touch me.” Cordelia confirms, face devoid of anything but dejection. 

“But I’m suppos – " 

“I don’t want you to.” She insists now, her own free hands reaching out and grazing against the rough skin of Misty’s. The Cajun shudders without realizing, only managing to stare back with blue eyes as wide as saucers. “I don’t like it. It makes me feel like I’m made of glass.” 

Misty smiles dearly. “And you’re not,” she laughs, definitely certain of that. She licks her lips nervously. “Are you sure? What if I scare ya by accident?” 

“You won’t.” She’s shaking her head, tendrils of golden hair slipping around to frame her face. When there’s another long pause, her features scrunch together, “please, Misty. I just want to feel normal again.” 

A pang of sympathy crashes over her, leaving room for no other emotions. She squeezes Cordelia’s hands firmly, a silent yes that has the older woman smiling. 

… 

As the days go by, Cordelia doesn’t become any less insistent on her ability to cope. 

If she had a dollar for every time she hears “I can do it” she would be enjoying the life of luxury in some mansion somewhere. 

Thankfully, Misty believes her most of the time. The woman is clearly capable for the most part, and any lack in that is made up for with a constantly growing determination to prove everyone wrong, mostly her mother. Watching their interactions makes Misty’s skin crawl, ‘cause no momma should treat her kid like that. But she _does_. 

And Misty sometimes wonders how much of a professional line it would be crossing if she told the woman to lay off once in a while. Biting on her lips, she keeps those irritated words deep within, and lets Cordelia vent to her afterwards. 

“Has she always been like that?” Misty asks curiously as it’s just the two of them once again. The radio sounds quietly in the background, while the scent of cigarettes lingers in the room. Cordelia had told her mother not to smoke in the house, but the plea only fell on deaf, uncaring ears. 

“Yes.” Cordelia admits with slumped shoulders. “Even since before I went blind.” 

She lets a long, thoughtful breath seep from her chest. “No wonder you didn’t want to go live with her again.” She peers at Cordelia through her lashes, the woman’s face is all hard and unforgiving, still reeling from an interaction with Fiona. “I think I’d rather be burned at the stake.” 

Laughter fills the tense air, sending all the bad vibes flying out of the open door in its quake. Misty smiles widely – she can once again hear the birds singing and the chirping crickets outside now that the ice witch is gone, replaced with someone altogether better. 

Cordelia is smiling too, and _oh_ , she’s leaning in closer. So close that Misty can smell the strawberry lemonade she’s drinking on her breath, sweet and inviting. “I can think of a lot of things I’d rather do than live with Fiona.” She’s whispering, though Misty doesn’t know why. 

“M - me too.” Would you look at that, she’s whispering back, as though the conversation is for their ears only. 

With Cordelia mere inches away from her, she narrows her pupils on the healing scars around her eyes as always, finding herself fascinated by their shapes and colors. 

“Well,” Cordelia’s lips stretch into the widest of grins, showing off a pearly set of teeth. Her voice remains low and calm. “I guess it’s a good thing you live here then.” Suddenly, she’s pulling away with a scrape of the chair and the rattling of her cane. “Do you want some more lemonade?” She questions like she hasn’t just sent Misty’s heart fluttering with the ferocity of a frantic hummingbird’s. 

Touching her warm face, Misty swallows thickly against her dry throat. “Please.” 

She’s thankful as breeze makes its way through the house and envelopes her in an embrace of much needed coolness. She peers back as Cordelia clinks glass against glass clumsily yet steadily, until the tip is brimming with the pink liquid. It offers a good distraction from staring at the woman, ‘cause she fears where her mind will go if she does. 

When she offers to help carrying them over to the table, she’s met with a rehearsed, “I can do it.” 

It makes her smile spread impossibly wide, nothing short of smitten. 

… 

Other than Fiona, she doesn’t really see many people in Cordelia’s life. 

It’s strange, she thinks, seeing as the woman is one of the kindest and most caring she’s ever met. You’d think that she’d have more people checking up on her. Especially since it’s not been so long since her initial accident (the same one that brings a searing anger to her insides now she knows the truth, but they don’t, and it fills Misty’s heart with sadness. Maybe Cordelia had stumbled upon some depressing truth when she’d said that Fiona was paying her to be her friend. 

Still, there is one person that visits at least once a week – Cordelia’s friend Coco. She seems nice enough, and she always puts Cordelia in a better mood, but Misty isn’t so sure yet, mainly because . . . 

“God, Misty, do you _know_ how many calories is in that?” 

Misty halts in the doorway, staring down at her blueberry muffin in confusion. “Um, no?” _Should she?_

She peers at Cordelia with a scrunched forehead, only to see the woman hiding a smirk behind her hand. 

Coco scoffs, nothing short of incredulous. “Almost five hundred! That’s a quarter of your daily calories.” She continues to nurse her water, the limes and cucumbers bobbing round the surface. 

“Oh,” Misty says, “you want one? I got a whole box.” 

“No thank you. I’m watching my figure.” Her frown deepens. 

Turning to Cordelia, she smiles brightly. “What about you, Delia?” She takes another bite of hers, holding back a moan of satisfaction. “They’re really good.” 

She’s smiling back, sweeter than the baked good Misty is currently snacking on. “Save me one for after dinner?” 

“Sure.” 

And they continue to smile at one another until Coco breaks it up with an exclamation of horror. “How many did you _buy_?” 

A sheepish laugh follows. “I was hungry.” 

“I told you she eats like a horse.” Cordelia chips in with an angelic, almost fond laugh. Misty quickly throws that thought away, and ignores the blush creeping across the freckled skin of her nose. She also refuses to acknowledge the fact that Coco has noticed, now staring toward her with narrowed eyes. 

“I only eat that much ‘cause your cookin’ is so good.” She shrugs, “you don’t leave me any choice.” 

Surprise flashes across Cordelia’s expression before it bubbles into joy. “You’re just saying that.” 

“Nah, I never lie.” 

Misty knows that she must be smiling a certain goofy and lopsided smile at Cordelia as it tugs strongly on the corners of her lips. When she feels another gaze burning against her cheek, she follows its warmth and sees Coco observing to the two with a grin. Her eyes flick between the pair as if she’s watching an interesting tennis match. 

The Cajun’s eyes widen briefly, and she busies herself with eating once more. “Well, I got stuff to do, I’ll leave you two alone.” 

And she feels that persistent stare the whole four seconds it takes her to leave the room, head buzzing nervously. 

...

They soon find themselves in an easy routine. 

With normally little housework to do, they often sit outside together against the brilliant sunshine. Cordelia listens to her audiobooks, while Misty tends to the onslaught of weeds curling through the luscious garden. 

She feels more at home than she’s felt in years with dirt on her hands and _Stevie_ singing out against the chorus of nature around her. So at ease, she spends most of that time singing, too. The words flow right through her, finding her core and reverberating intensely through every inch of her body. 

Misty thinks she could stay like this forever. 

And when she pauses her ministrations in the dirt, peering against the bright sky to cast a look at Cordelia, she sometimes finds her facing her direction. Earphones abandoned, she listens to Misty’s singing with lips curved upwards prettily and all worry lines a distant memory on her face. 

The Cajun tries to ignore the way it makes her stomach quiver in excitement. 

...

She quickly learns that Cordelia often leaves a mess behind her, unintentionally so. 

It’s not hard to tell where the woman has been, for usually there’s the puddle of tea next to the sink, or the askew piece of furniture leaving memories of her presence. 

She gets all too good at keeping on top of them without Cordelia becoming none the wiser. It’s an arrangement that she’s pretty happy with, until one particular mess presents itself to her. 

Staring at the pile of clothes in the drier, she feels a sinking feeling sucking the air from her lungs. “God dammit.” Misty mumbles under her breath, taking in the ruined clothes that are accompanied by the stench of burning. It stings away at her nostrils, though not as much the anxiety of having to tell Cordelia. 

This isn’t the first time that her blindness has unfortunate consequences, such as Cordelia accidentally setting the dish towel on fire, or consistently missing her bed side table and dropping her pain meds to the floor in a chaotic scatter. 

That doesn’t mean that it’s any easier to break it to the proud woman. 

Still, she’s always prided herself on honesty, and there’s no point in beating about the bush. 

When she finds Cordelia, she’s sat in the garden with one headphone in her ear and the other hanging by the ends of her hair. For a moment, she is stopped in her tracks, taking into the sight of her, legs stretched out gently in the afternoon sun. She’s lay like a house cat, all curves and angles to catch the best of the rays with a content smile on her lips. 

Misty enjoys witnessing her so relaxed, something that seems to be a rare sight. Unfortunately, she’s gotta be the one to bring an end to that. She feels awfully sick all of a sudden. 

“Hey, Miss Cordelia.” She starts quietly, hoping that Cordelia doesn’t notice the edge to her words. 

She does. And sits up abruptly, forehead crinkling with a frown. A hand reaches to tug the earphone out so she can give Misty all of her attention. “Is everything alright?” 

“Um, not really.” 

“What happened?” Even with the frown etched up on her features, Misty wonders how she manages to look so ethereal. That passing thought has her pausing in question, words hanging on the end of her lips. Sure, she’s never one to shy away from admiring the beauty in other women, it’s just not often that it leaves her speechless. 

Thankfully, the words find her not soon after. “Somethin’ seems to have found its way into your laundry – everythin’s kinda ruined.” 

Her lips fall open. “Are you serious?” 

“As a heart attack.” 

Cordelia is quickly on her feet, scrambling to find her cane which evades her. Eventually, she holds out a hand. “Lead me,” she says. 

All too quickly, Misty is by her side, one hand expertly taking hold of Cordelia’s while the other hovers around her waist. She suddenly feels warm, and _not_ from the summer heat. 

It soon chills into a cold dread as she watches Cordelia feel the mess of the mysterious melted item amongst her clothes. “This was my favorite sweater.” She laments with a trembling lip, eyes glazing with tears. Misty has a sneaking suspicion that said tears are the result of something entirely different than the death of a mere sweater. “How could I be so stupid?” 

“It’s only clothes,” she tries with an encouraging smile, “We can go out and get new ones.” 

Misty’s hands are shrugged off ( _when_ had she taken hold of Cordelia again?) and the older blonde stiffens with an annoyed grunt. “Easy for you to say.” She cuts back, casting the pile down in annoyance and turning quickly on her feet. Her head bows for a second, doing very little to dispel the upset she’s clearly experiencing. 

The woman looks all too ready to bolt, but her hands suddenly rise in confusion, unable to get her bearings. Her jaw tenses, and she sniffles quietly. “Which way is the door?” 

Misty places her hands on Cordelia’s shoulders, turning her to the right and in line with the threshold. A part of her wants to just grab her hand and follow her wherever she wants to go; another part loudly reminds her that the woman is still coming to terms with her disability, and she needs her space. 

She watches her leave sadly, face twisting as she battles the lump in her own throat. “Well, _godammit_.” Misty says for the second time that day. 

… 

An hour later, with the mess sorted out and all kinds of air fresheners covering the charred aroma, she sits down on the couch where Cordelia is positioned, feeling awfully sorry for herself. “I brought you some iced tea.” She says, voice low and soft, “it’s mango flavored.” 

Cordelia gives a sad smile. “Is this pity tea?” Even so, her hand begins an attempt at locating the glass. 

“Nine o’clock.” Misty offers helpfully, her own smile growing into a beam that would make the moon jealous as Cordelia succeeds. “And it ain’t pity anythin’ – why would you say that?” 

“Because I ruined all my laundry,” she replies bitterly. 

“So you messed up one thing,” Misty sighs, leaning into the seat without taking her eyes off Cordelia. 

“Not just the laundry. Feel like I’m messing everything up at the minute.” 

She purses her lips thoughtfully. “Adjusting is hard.” 

“I should have been more careful.” 

“It could have happened to anyone,” Misty says honestly, “do you know how many times I ruined laundry when I moved out by myself?” Cordelia remains mute, but if anything, she appears less livid at herself. When the silence becomes too much for her to bear, she continues, “it’s just clothes, Delia, who cares?” 

“ _I_ care.” 

She tilts her head, gaze growing in intensity as she watches Cordelia. “Why?” 

“I just do.” 

She’s rolling the fabric of her shirt through her fingers, head turned away from Misty as though knowing she’s the object of her unrelenting stare. So close to her, Misty is drawn to the healed scars around her eyes, now scattered and speckled marks across the skin; small in size, but fiery in color. 

They must be silent for longer than she realizes, because Cordelia is breaking the lack of noise with a nervous, “Misty?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re not going to tell Fiona about this, are you?” 

At first, the very idea that she’s going to inform Cordelia’s mother like some snivelling snitch has a laugh crawling up her throat and threatening to let loose. Then she spies the way Cordelia sits as small as a scolded child, nervous and defeated and just . . . _sad_. 

She quickly sets about putting that straight. “Nah, I wouldn’t dream out it. Our little secret, okay?” Her shoulder is flush against Cordelia’s, and she leans in closer. “Besides, it don’t matter. You’re not really gonna let a sweater ruin your day, are you?” 

Cordelia is already shaking her head, voice strained. “It’s not about the sweater.” 

There’s an impossibly long beat, like the two are taking the time to bask in the heavy conversation hanging between them. Words are thought and not uttered, saved for another time. 

It’s a moment, Misty thinks, in which she’s truly seeing Cordelia open up, beginning to study her feelings rather than ignore them. That’s something for her to figure out though, with a gentle push from the Cajun. “I know,” she whispers in understanding. 

This time, it’s Cordelia who initiates the touch, hand seeking hers so quickly Misty wonders if it’s got super heat sensors. When she gently squeezes Misty’s, her smile grows, small dimples appearing in her cheeks. 

Misty only stares, feeling truly dumbfound in the moment. 

… 

“Come on,” Misty claps her hands together eagerly, reaching out for Cordelia’s hand. The older woman lets her, tightening her grip against Misty’s muddied fingers. 

Still, she frowns. “Where are we going?” 

Misty peers at her through hooded eyes. “To the mall, silly. Thought you wanted to get a new sweater.” 

“I - um . . .” 

“Plus, I really want a burger.” 

Cordelia lets out a laugh riddled with relief, then smiles. “You want a burger?” 

“We can get you one too,” she smiles softly, handing Cordelia her cane once she’s stood up and setting her in the direction of the door. 

She suddenly stops, so quickly that Misty bumps into her and has to steady herself by placing her fingers around Cordelia’s hips. The Cajun lingers for a good few seconds before coming to her senses and jumping away from Cordelia as though her touch stings. 

That would explain the prickling in her fingertips, either way. 

“Misty.” Cordelia starts, face paling. The panic radiating off her quickly meets Misty, who reacts with a hovering hand around her upper arm and a tentative stare. “I don’t wanna eat in front of people. Not now . . .” She bows her head, giving a dry smile, “I don’t exactly have the best hand – eye co – ordination.” 

Personally, the younger blonde finds it quite endearing when the odd forkful of food falls against Cordelia’s mouth, but she’s humming in understanding. “We’ll get them to go.” 

The worry remains etched on Cordelia’s face, but seems to be losing a battle against something more uplifting. “Okay,” comes her wobbly reply. 

She still doesn’t move. 

Now is when Misty’s tightens her grip on her, a grounding touch to keep her thoughts from usurping her body. “I haven’t been to the mall since – _you know._ ” Cordelia whispers, pained. “I haven’t been anywhere, really.” 

And the doubt that she’s been denying for weeks is suddenly unmistakable, gnawing away in an unstoppable moment of fear. Fear of a new world. Well, the same world she once knew, just _different_. 

So close to her, Misty can feel the way she heaves in a long breath, then seems to allow the exhale to be even longer, as though biding her time. She could refuse. She could turn around and go sit back on the couch, where it’s safe and familiar, and she knows how to cope there. 

She doesn’t. 

Her fingers are glued to the cane that now hangs limply in her hands. 

She’s at the edge of a bungee, debating whether to take that all important jump. 

Misty leans in nearer, heart pounding and hoping and praying. She decides to steal one of Cordelia’s favorite phrases and supply her with the much needed push. “ _You can do it_.” 

A shaky breath follows before Cordelia is nodding vigorously, lips pushed into a thin, tight and determined line. 

She starts walking, and Misty couldn’t be prouder. 

… 

Once that first hurdle is over, she comes to the conclusion that Cordelia is definitely ready to start living again, and she is more than willing to do what she can to help. 

“Let’s go for a walk.” 

Cordelia flutters her eyes at her, lines growing across the usually smooth skin of her forehead. “A walk?” 

“Yeah, you ain’t hardly left the house since I got here.” 

“I go in the gar – " 

She cuts across her easily. “The yard is not the same as going somewhere – come on, you don’t wanna be cooped up in here all day, do ya?” 

There’s reluctance, but thankfully only fleetingly so. “I guess . . .” 

“Great!” Misty is already waiting with shoes and Cordelia’s sunglasses, which the woman takes with a shy smile. 

The streets are thankfully quiet in the late afternoon, making it easy to guide Cordelia around. Nervous energy bubbles off her, something that she tries desperately to hide in what Misty is sure is a façade of confidence. 

Arms linked, she keeps Cordelia close against her, enjoying it way more than she should. “It’s beautiful today,” she announces, eyes glued upwards to the wonderfully clear sky. 

“Is it? Cordelia inquires, almost sad. 

“Sure is.” 

“Hmmm.” 

Misty tilts her head curiously, forming her lips into a decisive line. “Oh, don’t tell me you can’t hear how happy everythin’ is around you?” 

She shrugs, continuing her slow steps. “All I can hear is traffic . . . and my cane – maybe a bird or two.” 

Stopping them in their tracks, she ignores Cordelia’s confused frown and reaches out for the cane. Their hands graze (she tries to take no notice of that way her skin buzzes like the victim of an electric shock). She glances upwards, her own reflection staring back at her through the sunglasses. “ _Listen_.” 

As Codelia acquiesces to her, she scrutinizes every part of her that she can, peering through hooded eyes as a series of emotions flood over her features. They twitch with the everchanging tide of them, mouth daring to tug into the faintest of smiles. Misty smiles in relief at such a sight. Cordelia’s honey covered hair glistens under the evening sun, and she half expects to see bees buzzing around her happily. 

Instead, a different creature decides to grace them with its presence. 

Such a sight brings Misty effervescing with excitement, especially as the colorful butterfly glides over to Cordelia, who jumps as it makes contact with her hand. Pulled from whatever state of concentration she’d found, she begins to tug her hand away when Misty intercedes it. Her ringed fingers clasp at Cordelia’s wrist, holding tightly. 

“It’s just a butterfly,” she explains in a gentle hush, careful not to frighten it or the woman in front of her. 

Cordelia visibly relaxes. “Oh.” There’s a long pause, then she curiously asks with a tentative smile, “What does it look like?” 

She’s taken aback, if only for a moment, though quickly brushes the surprise out of her tone and coolly replies, “it’s blue - like the ocean. The edges of its wings are black. And . . .” Misty watches it fondly, always appreciative of nature; it slowly taps away on Cordelia’s hand, surely tickling the soft skin with its tendril legs. “And . . . I think it _likes_ you!” 

If her eyes had been on Cordelia in that moment, she would have seen the way a blush had flashed across her face quickly as a shooting star. 

As it is, she’s too focused on the butterfly. 

Misty is giggling now, leaning in closer. “Hey there little guy or gal.” 

“You know, Misty.” Cordelia forces her eyes upwards. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.” 

She raises a brow, smirking. “Is that a good thing?” 

The older blonde is giggling too, now. She seems so carefree and, dare she say, _happy_ – Misty allows herself to think that she may have had something to do with that. She prays so, anyway. 

“It’s a wonderful thing.” 

Soon, the butterfly realizes that there is no nectar where it is and bids its adieu. This is when Misty notices her fingers still holding onto Cordelia’s thin, delicate wrist. 

She doesn’t let go. 

Those fingers drift down to catch fingers in hers instead, her eyes never leaving Cordelia’s face. Thankfully, the woman is still smiling. And so is Misty. She likes the way it feels, especially when neither make any move to let go. 

“We should go get ice cream.” She announces suddenly, grumbling stomach grabbing her attention. 

Cordelia almost seems dazed, but content. She bites on her lower lip, clearly not realizing how _fucking_ attractive that is, and nods in agreement. 

...

No matter how much improvement she sees, it doesn’t mean that Cordelia is totally okay. 

And it doesn’t surprise Misty when she finds her crying in her bedroom one day – deep, frustrated sob that wrack through her entire body like crashing waves. Her first instinct is to swoop in, wrapping the woman in protective arms and hiding her from the harsh world. 

It almost wins, until rationality just about manages to trump it. _Professional_ , she repeats over and over in her mind, despite her heart insisting that friendship is more important than some job. 

“Cordelia?” she nervously whispers out, lips curving downwards at the strangled way Cordelia’s breath catches in her throat. 

She thinks the noises resemble something like her name, and so takes that as an invitation to approach. Misty wonders how anxious she must look, resembling someone about to near a ticking bomb rather than another person. 

Sitting a couple of feet away from her on the soft sheets, she ignores the way her heart winces at the continuing cries. She considers asking her what’s wrong, but holds back for fear that it might bring a bout of fresh upset. 

Her uncertainty starts to crumble, succumbing to the notion that Cordelia is clearly distressed and she’ll do _anything_ to put an end to it. She scoots closer, arms sliding around her shoulders and bringing her fightless body closer. 

In doing so, hot tears fall against her neck that Cordelia nuzzles into, and hands clutch her waist so tightly that she wonders if she’ll ever have circulation to her legs again. “It’s okay,” she encourages, “I’m here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

“It’s so stupid.” She says in distraught, clearly angry at her own breakdown. 

Misty continues to hold her close. She can spy a broken picture frame on the floor, glass scattered in varying directions. “It’s not.” She feels her own lower lip wobbling in sympathy to her hurt; she holds her head high and tries to keep tears at bay. “Let it out, you’ll feel better.” 

And that seems to be the permission for release that Cordelia needs, ‘cause she’s suddenly and without warning falls completely apart in Misty’s arms, allowing every pent up cry to floor through the high barrier of denial. 

Misty sits with her throughout every second. 

... 

“What do you look like, Misty?” 

It isn’t the first time she’s been asked that question, but something about it gives her pause. Then, she relaxes into a grin as she chews on her granola bar. “Oh, nothin’ special. Just your average blonde.” 

“You’re blonde?” Cordelia has lowered the book in her hand from where she was trying (and failing) at reading the braille, if her dissatisfied sighs are anything to go by. “What kind of blonde? 

She shifts under the attention, giving a shy smile. Her eyes crinkle with the action, glistening against the fluorescent lights above them. Misty quickly swallows the food in her mouth, a hand hovering delicately over her lips to stop any crumbs from freefalling. “Uh, golden blonde, I guess.” 

Cordelia nods, the continues. “Long or short?” 

A chuckle erupts from her throat. “Why do you suddenly care what I look like?” she questions coyly. 

Far from coy and instead rather shy, Cordelia’s cheeks grow as pink as a rose. “Just humor me.” 

“You can touch it if you want.” The ripples of laughter follow, “might be easier that way.” 

Now with permission, Cordelia raises her fingers and, through Misty’s guidance, gently takes hold of the loose strands of curls. The sensation sends shivers down the Cajun’s spine, her scalp singing in joy at the feel of the movement. She’s always _loved_ people playing with her hair, and something about it being Cordelia makes it all the more pleasurable. 

Cordelia smiles, and doesn’t let go. “It’s really soft.” 

Her ministrations don’t falter; not before long, those curious fingers find skin, a thumb brushing rhythmically over Misty’s jaw. She seems to catch herself, choking out. “Is this okay?” 

Misty, paralysed under her touch, nods – only to realize that woman can’t see that. Mustering a fumbled “ _yes_ ”, she desperately tries to remember how to breathe. It can’t be that hard, can it? Though, in that moment, you may as well have asked her to be doing quantum physics! 

Those wandering hands leave no inch of skin untouched, grazing her cheeks, lips, jaw, then migrating upwards where they smooth over her eyebrows – all the while Cordelia concentrates with her lips spread slightly apart, and Misty concentrates _only_ on those lips. 

She stops at her eyes, causing Misty to suck in a sharp breath that stings her lungs. 

But then Cordelia is smiling thoughtfully. “What color are your eyes?” 

“Blue,” she whispers back. 

“I bet they’re beautiful.” Cordelia declares with the widest of smiles, dimples poking in the corners of her cheeks. “I bet _you’re_ beautiful, Misty.” 

The words are spoken without a single inflection of doubt – they're sure and tender, and said while she still delicately holds Misty’s face beneath her soft fingers. 

Misty is glad that Cordelia can’t see the way she stares back in bewilderment, completely thrown at such a statement. Her eyes swim with adoration; she then peers down shyly, smiling. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Cold sticks to her skin like a pond full of leeches as Cordelia takes away her touch. Resisting the urge to reach out for it again, she steadies her breathing and anchors herself in her seat. 

Even as they return to their previous activities, the room remains thick with something neither are quite sure about, and Misty can feel the ghost of Cordelia’s fingers along her skin. 

… 

She’s floored one day when Coco comes out with a rather abrupt question, so much that Cordelia gags on her water and Misty almost drops the pan in her hand. “Do you have a boyfriend?” 

They must hear the way that Misty is choking on the stale air in her lungs, ‘cause suddenly Cordelia is laughing softly (and _prettily_ , the Cajun notes) and shaking her head like she’s just said something rather silly. In all honesty, it’s knocked Misty for a curveball. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just curious, is all.” 

“You don’t have to answer her.” Cordelia says kindly, a mediator between the pair. Despite her words, there is interest settling on her features, a neat brow beginning to quirk. 

Misty continues to face the counter, giving a half-hearted shrug. “It’s okay,” she says weakly, “and no, I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

There's a soft gasp from Coco’s lips. “I don’t believe that, you are _hot_.” 

Her eyes widen in surprise, having never really considered herself anything other than average. She laughs with unease, momentarily losing herself in the sight of the yard outside as a distraction. Unfortunately, there’s only so long that she can wait until the room begins to fill up with unasked questions. 

She spins and finds herself facing a smirking Coco. “Why you askin’?” 

“Because Cordelia says that you go out every Friday but didn’t know where to.” She says sweetly, “we were just brainstorming the possibilities. You know, a wild afternoon.” 

When Misty lets her eyes pan over to Cordelia, she finds her nose and cheeks tinging with pink, and she quickly glances away before she looks the same. “Well, I don’t go meet a secret boyfriend, that’s for sure.” 

“You certain?” 

“Pretty sure,” she chuckles, “seein’ as I like girls.” 

She waits on baited breath for their responses, knowing all too well that people don’t always take too well to her sexual preference. Her fingers are clutching onto the side of the cold counter so hard that the whites of her knuckles begin to shine through. 

If anything, Coco’s surprise that melts into a shit eating grin makes her feel more unsettled, so she peers to Cordelia instead, who is smiling softly to herself. Just being way from said stare allows her to inwardly sights in relief. 

“I totally _knew_ it.” Coco exclaims, a finger pointing her way. 

She raises a brow, allowing herself to chuckle. “Is that what you were whisperin’ about before I came in?” 

“. . . maybe?” 

“I told her not to probe,” Cordelia offers sheepishly, “but she likes to get in other people’s business.” 

“Ah, no harm done. I ain’t ashamed.” 

And just like that, it’s accepted and they move on. Well, _sort of._

“What type of girl do you go for?” Coco asks ten minutes later after Misty and Cordelia have entered into a conversation of how well the squashes are growing. 

Misty panics then, knowing all too well that her type is sat a mere four feet away from her. “Uhhhhh, I don’t go for just one type.” She lies in a strained voice, unable to help the way her eyes flash over to Cordelia. 

“Oh, come on! I have so many friends that I could set you up with.” She beams, “just think of me as your matchmaker.” 

“Ah, that’s alright thanks.” She idly rubs her shoulder with her hand, teeth biting at her lower lip. 

“Please, I might help you find your soulmate!” 

She can feel the persistence isn’t going to wear off, yet she knows that going on a blind date isn’t exactly something that she wants right now. No matter how much it might help her gain willpower over her growing crush on Cordelia. 

“I. . .” 

“Leave her alone, Co.” Cordelia’s expression leaves little room for questioning, and Coco drops the subject with a childish huff. Misty is just about ready to sweep the older blonde in her arms and kiss her, ever so grateful to be free of such a conversation. That wouldn’t help her case though. She makes a mental note not to mention this around Coco again. 

... 

Later that night, she nervously asks Cordelia if the confession changes anything about their working relationship (or more, _friendship_ ). 

Still smiling, she reaches out until her hand finds contact with Misty’s arm. 

Cordelia must hear the hurt in her voice, but she doesn’t probe. And for that, Misty is thankful. 

That hand rises to her arm, leaving a trail of fire where it goes. “Come here.” And without approval, she’s tugging Misty is into her embrace, a welcome and treasured move. She shudders a breath into her shoulder, closing her eyes and sighing. Cordelia runs her fingers through Misty’s hair once more as though admiring each individual strand. 

She practically mewls like a content lap cat, sniffling alongside her smile. 

“I think any girl would be lucky to have you, Misty Day.” Cordelia decides with a grin. 

Misty peers upwards, catching that smile with a hitch in her throat and a fiery heat surging through her. The only girl she _wants_ is currently holding her tightly to her chest, all touches and warm breath and dizzying aromas of cinnamon. She closes her eyes once more and melts into the embrace. 


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agh, thanks so much for all your lovely comments. Honestly so glad that you're enjoying this! please enjoy some more of these idiots being in love with each other and too scared to admit it.

Just as she suspects, Cordelia remains the kind soul that Misty’s grown to admire and be rather fond of. 

Despite her initial fear, there is no judgement, allowing her to continue her job as usual. 

The job that she has to remind herself is the very reason why she shouldn’t be having such . . . such _feelings_ for Cordelia. If anything, it doesn’t make them wane. Like the forbidden fruit, Cordelia seems to grow all the more desirable to her with each growing second. 

She’s always had a thing for older women, especially _hot_ older women who seem to be as close as possible all the time. 

Sometimes, it’s so easy to forget that she works for her. When they’re both sat sharing a meal, or practically piled on top of each other with the TV on. Normally Misty watches and Cordelia idly listens or works on something else. It’s peaceful and comfortable, and no one would ever suspect that they were anything other than friends. 

Then Fiona appears and her fantasy is brought crumbling to its knees. If she has to hear that woman call her Cordelia’s “help” one more time, she’s going to lose her shit. 

For now, she gives the occasional warning glare and tries not to hover too close to the woman’s daughter, even if she feels the urge to protect her (from her own mother, which is kinda messed up). 

Fiona’s visits always have a bleak impact on Cordelia, who is often quiet and contemplative for the next couple of days. 

“Why do you let her do this to you?” she daringly asks after one of those occasions, ignoring the way that the hurt on Cordelia’s face rips right through her heart. 

She tenses. “Do what?” 

Misty’s frown deepens with her eyebrows knitting tightly together. “Let her come in here and treat you like crap. It ain’t fair.” 

“Nothing is fair.” 

The words have her moving to sit cross legged next to Cordelia on the floor of her bedroom. She heaves in a sigh, then take the bait. “What do you mean by that?” 

She shrugs. 

“Delia.” It comes out thick and slow. 

“At least I was useful to her before I went blind – now I’m just a burden in her eyes.” 

Someone may as well have taken a knife to Misty’s heart for all the pain those words cause her. “You ain’t a burden.” 

But Cordelia is nodding her head, tears beginning to ebb over the whites of her eyes. “I am, Misty. I’m useless. Utterly and completely useless. Fiona was _right_.” 

_Oh hell no._

Jaw setting, she directs her intense glare in Cordelia’s direction and huffs out her annoyance. How can she believe that? “Cordelia -” 

“I used to teach.” She cuts across, voice taking on a scarily eerie type of calm that Misty’s only ever seen before the most treacherous of storms. “Before it happened.” Peering down, she breathes shakily for a few moments. “I loved my job so, so much. I miss it every day.” 

Misty imagines the woman before her in a classroom, shaping the young minds of the future with her kind heart and strong words. There is no doubt in her mind that she’s an amazing teacher. The very idea brings a smile to her lips. 

“Why don’t you do it anymore?” 

Cordelia sets upon her an “ _are you serious?_ ” expression. 

She persists anyway, wanting desperately to lift her spirits. 

“Come on, don’t tell me you really think that you can’t do it?” 

“Misty, I have a live in carer at my home – how do you expect me to teach and manage an entire classroom?” 

“You and I both know that you’d get along just fine without me living here.” She says honestly. “You’d get used to a classroom.” 

Under her intense gaze, Cordelia looks like she wants to believe her, and Misty prepares herself for another self-deprecating comment, readying to counter it. She gets something else altogether unexpected. “You think I’d be fine without you?” 

She blinks, wondering how the older blonde makes those words sound heavier than intended. “You’re the most determined person I’ve met,” she laughs, then sadly adds, “you’d manage without me.” 

“I’d miss you,” Cordelia confesses. “If you left, I’d miss you a hell of a lot.” 

Hearing that makes her want to spin and dance joyfully around the entire room, and she somehow manages to rein that in with a shocked, yet growing smile. “Are you plannin’ on me leaving?” she teases. 

She’s frantically shaking her head, holding back giggles. Misty, for a moment, wonders how she’d so expertly turned the conversation from herself to Misty, and quickly pushes that into the depths of her mind. 

“ _No -_ not at all.” She reaches on, hands on Misty as natural as a fish takes to water. The Cajun has very little complaints. 

“You sure? I shouldn’t be lookin’ for another job?” Her taunting brings a flood of pink over Cordelia’s soft cheeks bones. 

“Misty, stop it. I’m trying to be sincere!” 

She lies flatter against the couch, coincidentally meaning that she has to lean in nearer to Cordelia’s happy aura. “Go on,” she concedes. 

“What I’m trying to say,” Cordelia laughs, both insistent and almost . . . embarrassed simultaneously, “is that I’m _glad_ my mom is paying you to be my friend.” 

“Well, I am glad that it meant I could meet you.” She smiles brightly, “and in a different circumstance, I think we would have been friends anyway, right?” 

Cordelia is doing it _again_ , biting her lip oh so slowly. Those teeth are almost mesmerizing, the way the tug at the sensitive skin and - 

Thankfully, Cordelia’s reply beckons her attention. “I’d like to think so.” 

“Oh, I know so.” 

The pair fall into a comfortable silence, each digesting the moment in their own way, wondering what it could possibly mean. It’s safe to say that Misty has never been like this with a charge before, sure she’s a touchy person. But there’s something else with Cordelia - it’s not just tactile. There’s a way that her soul just seems to cry out to Misty in a song that is impossible to ignore. 

She peers to her, fluttering her thick eyelashes and shifting with nervous energy in the seat. Cordelia picks up on it instantly, expression questioning. 

“Hey, what are you doing this Friday?” 

“You know me,” she laughs ruefully, “free as a bird.” 

“Do you wanna come out? With my friends and I?” 

The older blonde stumbles over her words, for the first time inarticulate. 

“It’s nothing’ crazy, I promise.” She insists, “we usually do this weekly quiz – Maddy doesn’t come ‘cause she’s thinks its lame, but it’s actually kinda fun. Zoe is real competitive and Queenie always gets super drunk. I think you’d like it.” 

“You want me to come?” Cordelia seems bewildered almost, frowning in confusion. 

Misty gives an easy laugh, “I wouldn’t be askin’ if I didn’t want you to.” 

She seems to be thinking it over intensely, some sort of back and forth plaguing her mind. “Do you think your friends would mind?” 

“Nah,” Misty smiles, “they know all about you anyway. And they kinda have a more the merrier attitude.” 

And she’s totally ready for Cordelia to make some sort of excuse, ‘cause it was hard enough getting her out of the house when she first moved in, never mind to a _bar_. But there’s a delicate smile pushing through, teeth poking out through plump lips. The blonde is nodding with barely contained excitement, and Misty wonders if this is just what she needs. “Alright.” 

She’s so giddy herself that she is tugging Cordelia in for an impromptu hug, apologizing as it startles the blind woman. “I promise that I’ll take care of ya, too. I won’t leave your side.” 

Their hands curl tightly around one another. Cordelia looks to her with the uttermost fondness brimming in her features. “I know, Misty.” 

… 

Friday night comes around all too quickly and, while she never focuses too much on appearance, she finds herself prissing and turning in front of the mirror all too much that night. She sprays on her favorite perfume and checks herself one final time. Her thin frame is hidden beneath a long, black dress that ends half way down her calves. It brings stark contrast to her mane of blonde curls, fussed into the neatest shape she can muster. 

Even still, she likes how it flows in a deliberately messy way. With the addition of a light base of make up, she’s pretty much ready to go and heads toward Cordelia’s room just as the woman calls out for her. She grins. _Perfect timing._

Cordelia is still wrapped in her robe, with piles of clothes lay out over the silk sheets of the bed. 

“You need me?” she stands in the doorway, clutching onto the white frame from the sight of Cordelia’s firm thighs poking from under the robe. 

Spinning, the older blonde huffs in frustration. “Misty, I don’t know what to wear.” 

A soft chuckle follows, and she pads further into the room to inspect the choices. It’s a rare moment that Cordelia actually _asks_ for her help, so she’s going to relish every second of it. “Well, what sort of thing you thinkin’ of?” 

“I want a dress,” she says outright, “something nice. I don’t remember the last time I went out.” Feeling for the bed, she eventually finds it and perches herself on the end. “Do you think any of those will do?” 

“They’re all awfully pretty.” 

As most of the things in the house, they’re clearly well-made and designer clothes worth more than what Misty could ever dream of making. Yet for someone from such an opulent upbringing, Cordelia doesn’t seem to have been spoiled by its touch. 

Her fingers graze over one in particular, its vibrant color screaming to be picked. She lifts the pink dress and smiles, “how about you try on this one?” 

Cordelia takes hold with little resistance and reaches for the rope of her robe. She seems to forget she’s got an audience because she’s half way through removing it when she suddenly clears her throat. 

“Do you mind turning around?” 

Misty has already done so, for fear if she sees Cordelia in her underwear, she might have to have her way with her right there and then. And that is surely crossing both a professional line and the boundaries of their friendship. She spins around again only when prompted, taking in the full sight of her with a gulp and gleeful grin. “You look beautiful, Miss Cordelia,” she says dreamily. 

She bows her head, smiling. “Will you zip me up?” 

Doing so allows her the chance to admire the smooth skin of her back, eyes wide with nothing short of desire. Cordelia moving to face her doesn’t help, since the dress dips nicely between her breasts and reveals the equally smooth valley between them. She forces her eyes upwards, almost failing on multiple occasions, and eventually peers at her face instead. 

The older woman shifts nervously, as though fully aware she’s under such intense scrutiny. If anything, she seems to shine beneath Misty’s attention, even more so as more compliments follow seeing when Misty forgets how to say anything else. 

Eventually, she notices the time. “We better go.” She reaches for their things, then leads the pair downstairs, the whole time unable to shake the feeling that this feels like more of a date than she’s willing to admit. She _wishes_ it was a date. 

Their drive is filled with casual conversation to cover both of their fraying nerves and she keeps her hands firmly anchored to the steering wheel the other time, hoping and praying to whatever deity is up there that tonight goes well. 

As she pulls up, neither make to leave the car. 

She waits, patient as always. This is a big step for Cordelia and she isn’t going to push her into anything. “You good?” she questions. 

“I think so.” 

She’s reaching for the handle, but her fingers hover over it. “You promise you’ll stay with me?” 

Misty laughs, “pinkie promise. You ain’t getting' away from me so easily.” 

And just like that, the tension dissipates into the night air like wisps of cloud. 

Not soon after, they are inside and she’s leading Cordelia to the usual table where her friends are already waiting. They greet her with a series of hugs and boisterous hellos, making it all too clear that they’ve started drinking already. The very idea causes her to gulp nervously. But there’s a more pressing matter in the form of a beautiful woman currently leaning into her side and worrying her lower lip. 

“This is Delia, guys.” She announces as they settle, turning to face the woman. “And these are my friends. Mallory is sitting to your right, at two o clcok, then Queenie at 12 o clock, Zoe at 11, nan at 9 and . . . well, you know me, but I’ll be on your left, okay?” 

It’s strange for all of a few seconds, with her work and personal life meeting in a way she’s never even thought possible, but Cordelia is smiling and politely greeting them. And her friends are all too welcoming – probably ‘cause she gave them quite the speech ( _threat_ ) the day before. Something along the lines of “ _you make her feel part of the group or I swear to god you will regret it_.” 

“I love your dress, Cordelia.” Mallory says sweetly. 

Under her touch, she feels Cordelia visibly relax, her smile genuine as she’s guided into her seat. “Thank you – Misty picked it out.” 

Misty suddenly finds herself under the gaze of four people, all of which have a series of smirks and knowing looks, to which she only stiffens her jaw and dares them to challenge her. She’s grateful when Queenie offers to grab them some drinks before the quiz starts, leaving her with one less probing friend. 

Unfortunately, Nan spends the next five minutes staring their way, eyes glistening and a shit eating grin on her lips. There’s a danger to it, she knows, seeing as the girl is the biggest blabber mouth of the group. 

“It’s great to finally meet you, Cordelia.” She announces loudly over Zoe and Mallory’s conversation about work. “We’ve heard so much about you.” 

Cordelia pauses, nervously brushing some hair behind her ears and revealing the frog earrings that Misty had bought her a few weeks ago – her heart warms at the sight. “All good things, I hope.” She chuckles with apprehension. 

Queenie seems to appear out of thin air, placing two glasses in front of them and a series of cocktail before the other girls. “Better than good. Our girl has been singing your praises for weeks.” 

She glares in their direction, eyes narrowing sharply. The most frustrating part is that it is damn well _true_. She’s spent way too long gushing over the older blonde like some lovesick puppy, but she really didn’t think her friends were going to tell her that. 

“She has?” Cordelia raises an eyebrow, smirking. 

Misty follows the movement of her lips with intent, pursing her own absentmindedly. To take her mind from said inviting lips, she reaches for her drink and takes a long sip of it. 

“ _Endlessly_.” Nan laughs, clearly enjoying the torture that she’s putting Misty through. 

“Oh. Well . . .” She starts, awfully primly and lips twitching with the want to smile. “That’s nice.” 

_Nice! Nice?!_

Resisting the urge to throw her head into her hands, she focuses on both the way her friends giggle quietly to themselves like a group of school girls, and also wonder why on earth Cordelia’s response is so strange? Peering at her through the corner of her eyes, she chooses to ignore her flushed expression and leans in closer. “I’m sorry, I told them to behave themselves.” 

She’s whispering, apologetic and worried that the night is ruined already. Is it weird? Does Cordelia seem weird? Is she picking up on all the weird energy that Misty is currently radiating ‘cause this isn’t a date but she kind of keeps forgetting that and introducing Cordelia to her friends makes it feel more like a date, and It's just _weird?_

Misty blinks, feeling a headache start to sting at her temples. 

“Don’t worry,” Cordelia’s laugh is enough to put her at ease, “remember that I have to reckon with Fiona on a weekly basis.” 

And just like that, Misty is having fun once again. 

Her friends seem to settle, no longer circling Cordelia with questions like a pack of hyenas, but instead letting the pair join the conversation at their own pace. When the quiz starts, everything she’d predicted to Cordelia happens like clockwork, from nan blurting out secrets here, there and everywhere, to the way Zoe gets so angry at Queenie for “not taking it seriously” that she throws the small plastic pen in her direction. 

It’s all in jest, thankfully, and each time she looks to Cordelia – which, for the record, is a lot – the woman is always sat with content expression, a sense of calm about her that spreads to Misty. 

As the quiz goes on, her confidence grows with it; Cordelia eagerly leans close to Mallory and dictates answers with ease and a brilliant smile, much to the surprise of her friends. 

“Where have you been hiding this woman?” Queenie laughs as Cordelia quickly answers all the history questions that would have gone abandoned by just them. 

Zoe is practically bouncing in her seat, grinning. “We might actually have a chance of winning!” 

“Yeah,” Nan interjects, “Cordelia is almost as competitive as Zoe. That’s saying something.” 

Amongst the chorus of laughter, Zoe rolls her eyes and Cordelia swells with pride under the praise and approval. 

Misty finds her quiet in these moments, at first happy to watch the interactions of her two worlds going so swimmingly. But then as time goes on, and she witnesses Cordelia answering question after question of things that she’s never even _heard_ of, something begins to brew inside of her. The stuff that Cordelia is coming out with is like, professor level shit. Now Misty isn’t dumb, she’s just not as well schooled as others. 

Maybe that’s the reason she’s always found intelligence so attractive, she wonders. Maybe it’s why when Cordelia uses big, strange words that she can’t even wrap her lips around she feels her insides quiver and heart race. 

But now Cordelia is producing facts and foreign names that fall off her tongue so naturally and instinctively that Misty thinks being intelligent is possibly one of the sexiest things in world. She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs and trying to hide the fact that she is fucking aroused in such a public place. 

To her relief, no one seems to notice, and the quiz continues. Misty can’t gather her thoughts enough to answer _one_ question. Even when _Fleetwood Mac_ songs are part of the music round. 

Eventually, it becomes all too overwhelming, especially as she hears Cordelia speaking French to Mallory and Zoe. That’s like . . . the _hottest_ language! 

She holds in her shuddery breaths and makes to stand, cursing inwardly as she remembers her promise to Cordelia earlier that night. Misty leans down, a gentle hand on her shoulder alerting her of the Cajun’s presence. 

“Delia, I need to go to the bathroom.” She says, “are you okay here?” 

Cordelia is smiling and nodding, and she’s happy that she’s comfortable enough to be around her friends. She’s even happier when she steps away from the stifling air and into the cold bathroom. She doesn’t need to pee, but she sits either way; her thighs rub together and she can feel that’s she’s wet between her legs, her core still aching for something that she’s not allowed. 

Frustrated, she moves to stand in front of the mirror and focus on something else, that being her ruffled appearance. Shaking hands forcibly try to smooth down her hair in a fruitless attempt before she begins to touch up her make up. 

When there’s nothing left to busy herself with, she simply clutches the icy edges of the sink and stares at her own reflection. 

“You’ve got it bad, girl.” 

She jumps as she spies Queenie sauntering from the furthest cubicle, moving to wash her hands next to her. 

The Cajun groans. “Is it that obvious?” 

“You look at her like she’s just pulled down the moon for you.” She teases, only for the smile to drop when she spies the serious look on Misty’s face. “Shit, are you alright?” 

“She was speaking French,” Misty whispers, "I didn’t even know she could _speak_ French.” 

A pair of hands land firmly on her shoulders, forcing her to open her eyes and pull her head back from where she’d thrown it against the mirror in despair. “And . . . why can’t you ask her out again?” 

“Because I work for her,” she deadpans. 

“So?” 

“I can lose my job for that.” 

Queenie shrugs, “then get another job.” 

She’s shaking her head now, sighing as though the world as wronged her. “It isn’t that easy.” 

When her friend continues to glare her way, she sighs. “For one, I don’t even know if she _likes_ girls – all I’ve ever heard about is boyfriends.” Horrible, evil ex boyfriends at that. 

“That’s where you come in,” she encourages, “show her what she’s been missing out on.” 

She grimaces, “Queenie . . .” 

“Look.” Her friend steps closer, ready to cut the pity party short, “if you like her as much as I think you do, you need to make a move.” She grins at Misty through the mirror, “Come on, you guys would make a cute couple.” 

Misty balks, though can’t deny that such an idea hasn’t crossed her mind. “You think so?” she asks excitedly. 

A laugh follows. “Sure, she’s got this whole, hot headmistress vibe going on and you’re a tall glass of tree hugging water.” 

“Gee, thanks, I guess.” 

“Do you think she’ll spank you if you’re bad?” 

She bolts upright then, eyes widening and expression tightly. “I’ve heard enough.” Because if she hears anything else about Cordelia _spanking_ , then she’s going to lose any remnants of control she has left. With Queenie on her tail, they return to the table and she softly tells Cordelia she’s back. 

“Misty, Cordelia used to live in LA, how cool is that?” 

“Real cool,” she agrees with a forced smile. She finishes the rest of her drink, appreciative of the distraction, then asks, “is the quiz over?” 

Zoe nods. “They’re just counting the results now.” A victorious grin climbs aboard her lips. “But we’ve at least placed in the top five, thanks to Cordelia. Looks like we have a secret weapon now.” 

When Misty turns to Cordelia, she finds the woman practically beaming in delight, and that makes Misty just about melt on the spot. She stares, enamored and entranced as she breathes in the sight of her under the dim bar lights. Her insides turn to putty watching Cordelia gently take in sips of her drink, the liquid leaving shiny remnants against her full lips. 

They come in third, which is honestly quite a feat considering their normal position, and as her friends decide to drunkenly celebrate, she and Cordelia call it a night. 

The cold air hits her like a brick wall, sending adrenaline pulsing through the veins. Cordelia stumbles against her, affected more by giddiness than anything else, so much so that her clutch on Misty’s bicep is enough to cut off her circulation. 

She helps her into the car, all the while listening to her gush about the night. While it brings a weary smile to her eyes, Misty’s mind is far, far away – lost in queenie’s words from only an hour or so ago. 

Every few seconds, she averts her gaze from the dark road ahead and watches Cordelia, a bittersweet ache in her chest. 

“Thank you for inviting me tonight, Misty.” 

She snaps in her direction, only having zoned back into the words when she hears her own name. With a kind chuckle, she speaks, “any time. Who knew you were so smart?” 

Cordelia feigns offence, reaching out to bat at Misty’s shoulder and instead making contact with her ribs. Her yelps dissolves into light-hearted giggles, eyes bright and cheeks flush with joy. She loves these moments between them, where they can just be themselves, where no one else is there to change that. 

As Cordelia snakes her hand back to her side of the car, she self-consciously tugs at her dress and shifts it into a more comfortable position. This draws attention to her breasts - Misty tries with all her might not to stare at and spends the next few minutes on the cusp of very much losing. 

“Do you think I could come next week?” she questions shyly. 

The very idea of having to live through such torment another week has her eyes widening in dread and fingers gripping tightly to the wheel, though not with enough reluctance to say no to her, ‘cause how could she possibly do that? “Yeah,” Misty sighs, “’course you can.” 

By the time they pull up in front of the house, there’s a pit inside Misty’s stomach that gnaws away and has her paralysed for the first few minutes. When feeling does return to her numb limbs, she heavily manoeuvres them to open the passenger door, where thankfully Cordelia is able to lead the way. 

It’s not super late, but she feels like she could sleep for about a week as Cordelia unlocks the door. 

Her friend, however, has different ideas. 

Searching hands find her arms and seconds later Cordelia is leaning in close with the scent of her perfume infiltrating Misty’s nostrils and rendering her frozen. “I have some wine in the basement,” she whispers wickedly, as though a school girl rebelling against her parents, “I reckon it’s our turn to drink.” 

Once again, the word _no_ simply isn’t in Misty’s vocabulary. 

… 

Turns out, Cordelia is a _massive_ lightweight. 

Four glasses of wine in and the once articulate woman is stuttering over her words and languidly moving in her spot on the couch. Misty sits on the armchair, purposely having chosen to distance herself for fear of alcohol being thrown into the mix. 

Currently, Cordelia is laughing keenly with her head thrown back, giving Misty view of her delicate neck, veins invitingly poking against the skin. “You did not say that!” She insists, voice bordering on disbelief. 

Misty gives an unrestrained snort, amused by her own memory. “I did, I swear.” Her grin widens, “then I stuffed paint down his pants.” She places a hand on her leg that bounces with nervous energy, wondering if there’s anything she can do the subside the movement. 

“ _What_?” 

“Yeah, he cried for a long time. But that’s what ya get for squishing a worm.” She shakes her head sadly, “no need for that.” 

Leaning forward, Cordelia down the last of her glass. “You, Misty, sound like you were a handful.” 

Sighing, her lips purse together in a thoughtful and thin line. 

Cordelia smiles her way, all red lips and pretty dimples. Her hair falls loose around her face, and if Misty didn’t have any self control she’d be right over there tucking it out of the way for her. Raising the empty glass to those ruby lips, Cordelia’s nose scrunches in annoyance. 

“I need more wine.” She insists, moving to stand and wobbling dangerously on unsteady feet. 

This time, Misty _does_ close the gap between them, arms swooping around the woman almost instinctively. “I think you may have had enough.” 

Holding onto her, Cordelia idly plays with the ends of Misty’s hair. “Oh, come on, one more glass won’t hurt.” 

Her voice is oh so teasing, low and gravelly in a way that certainly doesn’t help Misty’s situation. 

“And if say no?” 

She smirks. “You know how stubborn I can be.” 

“And you ain’t seen how stubborn _I_ can be.” Misty counters with a dangerous edge to her words, eyes never leaving Cordelia’s face. It changes amused to aghast in a matter of milliseconds, before her jaw locks into a tight line. 

“I’ll go and get it myself.” 

“Delia -” 

But Cordelia’s is tugging Misty’s arms from her slender waist. She can only watch as the woman does all but trip over her own feet in the pursuit of more wine. She curses under her breath and follows closely like a protective shadow, catching the items that don’t fare all too well in her path. 

Unsurprisingly, Cordelia scrambles to the floor not long after, a deafening silence following. Misty’s heart just about leaps out of her chest. 

She throws herself down beside her. “Jeez, Delia, you okay?” Any worries are quickly thrown out of the window as she finds Cordelia erupting into a fit of giddy giggles, a stray arm reaching to ground herself on the nearest object. Said object is Misty, whose fingers wrap around the older blonde’s. 

Misty isn’t sure why she’s laughing, nor does she think Cordelia knows, but the action quickly becomes infectious and she hears her own melodic voice joining the chorus. 

“Misty,” Cordelia whines, leaning her head against the Cajun’s shoulder. 

She pushes her eyebrow up in question. “Yeah?” 

“ _Misty, Misty, Misty_.” She parrots. “I love your name so much.” 

At the unexpected announcement, Misty experiences fire dancing across her cheeks and ears, grateful that only she’s aware of it. 

Cordelia continues to echo her voice in something resembling a sing song, bringing the most endeared smile to Misty’s face. They’re so close now that if she wanted to, she could lean over and close the gap between their lips, and boy does she want to. 

“Can I ask you something, _Misty Day_?” 

She chuckles, erratic heart screaming over her rational sense in her mind. “You can ask me anything.” 

The breathing of the woman in her arms slows, something making to sober her in a matter of seconds. Cordelia shifts, twisting and craning her neck so they’re directly facing one another, with her hot breath teasing the soft skin of Misty’s lips. Misty gulps. 

Coming out as a hushed question, she takes the plunge. “How did you know that you liked girls?” 

She visibly stiffens, eyes doubling in size and mind reeling. Of all the things to ask. . . Misty dares not allow herself to get carried away with any implications, instead pushing out a shuddery reply. “I - I don’t know. I guess I’ve always known.” 

“Always?” 

“Yeah, ever since I was little and Bobby Newton tried to kiss me. I knew that I didn’t like boys that way.” Thinking back, she gives a soft smile, “and every time I thought about getting' married, it was always to a girl. I’ve always thought women were the most magnificent creatures to walk this earth.” 

That clearly isn’t the answer that Cordelia wants, ‘cause she sits erect and uncomfortably upwards, forehead knotting together. “That was it?” 

She gives an unsure laugh. “That was it. I’ve always been this way.” 

“So, there was never . . . never one woman that made you realize?” 

Her head is turned away now, fingers loosening on Misty’s and pulling away. 

“No.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Pretty damn sure, yeah.” 

Cordelia frowns, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping an arm around them in one sloppy move. Clearly the alcohol is still affecting her, but in a sombre move that has Misty worried, especially while she stares palely forward as though peering into a deep abyss. 

In an attempt to lighten to mood, she tugs her in closer, chuckling. “What do you wanna know that for, anyway?” 

“Oh. No reason,” comes the hollow reply. 

Misty doesn’t dwell on it, ‘cause she knows if she does she’ll overthink and that could lead to disastrous consequences so she rises to her feet, ushering Cordelia up with a gentle, “come on.” 

“I think I want to go to bed.” 

“Okay.” The change in atmosphere doesn’t go unnoticed, but Cordelia is already pulling her toward the stairs. Without her cane handy, she steadies the woman in her ascent and guides her to her bedroom. 

She’s just about to leave her when she calls out her name, head bowed. “Can you just help me with this dress?” 

Nodding dumbly, Misty leads into the middle of the room and retrieves the woman’s gown before helping to zip the dress down. Her soft, loose curls tickle Misty’s knuckles as she does so. The expanse of smooth skin revealed has her breath catching in her throat, a tongue darting out to nervously lick dry lips. 

Her hand grazes silky skin, pushing the material of the dress and exposing Cordelia’s naked shoulder. She blinks, and stares. And then for good measure she stares some more, until the skin shudders delightfully under her touch. 

Misty pulls away from it like it’s scorched her own fingers. “There.” She says all too abruptly to pull herself from her sudden trance, frightening Cordelia in the process. The night robe is thrown hastily over her shoulder, and she all but runs for the door. 

She catches sight of a confused Cordelia in the mirror as she passes it, unsuccessfully attempting to follow the sound of her retreating footsteps. “Misty?” 

“Night, Miss Cordelia.” 

The door is slammed behind her, reverberating around the entire house. Stripping herself of her own clothes, she is soon hiding under the covers in a baggy Tee. For a few seconds, she stares straight ahead with trembling muscles and unsteady breath. If she closes her eyes, all she can see is that inviting skin beneath her fingertips and feel the ache in her core. 

Her hand makes its way into her lace panties, met with slick folds and an insufferable want. She’s so overwhelmed by the tension below that she can barely hear herself calling out Cordelia’s name.

...

She lays in bed for longer than she normally would the next morning, scrolling through videos and replying to her friend’s texts. Outside, she can hear the clattering of Cordelia’s cane as she potters about the house, and she knows that she needs to get up, to be professional. But all she wants to do is hide in her room. 

Eventually, she gives in to her conscience and tiptoes downstairs. 

Her favorite shawl wrapped neatly in around herself, she greets Cordelia with a tentative smile. “Hey.” 

She flinches, only briefly, and then settles into her own smile. “Hi Misty.” The long pause that follows brings with it a thick tension and heavy lump in Misty’s throat. “I made you breakfast . . . a while ago.” She prettily pats her lips together. “I didn’t think you’d be so long.” 

Guilt gnaws at her, forcing her to turn away. “My alarm didn’t go off,” she lies, _badly_ , “but thank you.” She finds herself staring over at the wonky plate of pancakes with a sigh, but first checks that stove is off and there are no obvious messes left by Cordelia’s early morning cooking. All fine. 

Satisfied, she grabs the plate and joins Cordelia at the table where she’s listening to a video on her phone. She pauses it when she hears Misty next to her. 

Though the food is cold, it’s still delicious and she tucks into it with a series of appreciative hums. It’s less enjoyable as she feels an audience giving her all of her attention. Misty sighs, head dipping. The night before hangs between them, with Misty’s strange exit and Cordelia’s bizarre questions. 

While Misty knows the motive for her own actions, she still struggles to comprehend Cordelia’s. Not without asking her. But that’s something she won't – _can't_ – do. Not for fear of crossing an invisible line that they seem to have lain between themselves. 

“How you feelin’?” she asks instead, peering up to the woman. 

Cordelia sighs. “Fine, just tired, I guess. I had to take some aspirin this morning.” A short laugh follows alongside a gentle shake of the head. “I forgot how much wine affects me.” 

She chuckles. “Good thing you didn’t embarrass yourself.” 

A moment of pause follows, and she wonders if Cordelia remembers what she’d asked her, the same question that she’d spent all night thinking over and over why Cordelia wanted to know when she came to realize her sexuality. And more over, why the answer had left her so deflated. 

There’s an unfamiliar air between them, causing the hairs on the back on her neck to stand on end. It’s as though there’s a danger lurking nearby, just waiting for its moment. Her stomach churns with nausea, the recently eaten food threatening to make a reappearance. 

It makes her wince, face paling. Maybe she can try to convince herself that she’s having her own aversion to the wine, but it would sure be one big lie. 

Cordelia isn’t even trying to force a smile, stoically sitting across from Misty with fingers now clenched around her mug of tea. It’s a mug that Misty bought her not too long ago, embossed with bees and sunflowers, and the only mug that Cordelia seems to use since then. She gives a half smile that begins wilting all too quickly. 

If the thumping in her ribcage is anything to go by, she is well and truly screwed. 

“Hmmm.” Cordelia offers little in her response, and her lips remain primly pursed. 

The older blonde loses herself in some contemplative daze and Misty has to listen to the sound of her own cutlery scraping against the plate for the next few minutes. “These are nice.” 

“Thank you.” She says curtly. 

“Did you make them yourself?” 

It’s the kind of small talk that she hates, and to make matters worse it’s something not reserved for people that she’s known for months. _Especially_ Cordelia. She is not a small talk woman – she’s the one that conversation should never be stunted with. Yet here they are, making small talk. 

Nodding, she lifts the mug to her lips, leaving Misty transfixed by the small action. “Yeah.” 

“They’re nice.” She cringes at her own repetition. 

“I think we’ve established that they were nice.” 

“Um . . .” 

But Cordelia is grinning and biting her lower lip, a sudden brightness to her expression. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about last night.” 

She stiffens like concrete. “What?” 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to. . . _do that_.” She’s smiling and blushing, and smiling some more. Misty heads spins in bewilderment. “It was crossing a line.” It wasn’t, she knows – technically she is there to help Cordelia with anything that she might need, even if it involves helping her take clothes off. 

“Delia - you don’t . . . it's not like it’s anythin’ I ain’t seen before.” 

She’s still nibbling the soft skin of her lips, leaving Misty’s eyes growing in arousal and mouth parting slightly. The sun shines through the wide windows, bathing Cordelia is glorious light that does little to help Misty think she’s anything but an ethereal creature. “Oh, right,” she nods, “I guess stuff like that is your job.” 

“Yeah.” 

Deafening silence. 

“And, you know, I’ve had girlfriends so . . .” 

Misty isn’t sure why she says it, but then Cordelia is tilting her head in a strange way with strained veins in her neck and nostrils flaring so fast that she almost doesn’t catch it. 

The smile is an awful lot tighter now, forced to remain upon Cordelia’s lips. “Right, because I’m sure you’ve had lots of girlfriends.” It takes her a few seconds to hear her own words, panic flooding the corners of her face. “Not that I’m saying you have dated _lots_ of people. I don’t think you’re . . . like, I – " 

“We’re doing a pretty good job at making this awkward.” Misty laughs. 

Stress draining from Cordelia’s shoulders before her, the older woman chuckles in agreement. “I’d say we’re experts at this point.” 

“Look, Delia.” Misty is sighing. Her inner turmoil seems to have come to a conclusion, albeit one that makes her palms sweaty and her chest heave with anticipation. “I left so quickly last night ‘cause - well, you there and . . . that _dress_. I – I guess I was a little overwhelmed.” She closes her eyes, suddenly incapable of looking at the woman in front of her. 

If they had been open, they’d see the way Cordelia licks her lips, but as it is, she misses that entirely. “ _Overwhelmed_?” 

She gives out a shaky laugh. “Well, yeah. You’re really attractive and I don’t know if it was the wine, but seeing you, like that . . . was a lot.” 

Squinting an eye open, she waits for an answer on baited breath. 

Said breath grows old and stale in her throat while Cordelia seems to digest the confession at an extremely leisurely pace, painfully so. Misty feels as though she’s just lay her heart out in front of the woman and she may as well be tap dancing over it right now. 

In her tortured wait, the world around her seems to intensify. The kitchen clock that normally goes by unnoticed ticks a mocking chorus, while outside the screaming of a lawnmower frays at her nerves. 

Eventually, Cordelia puts her out of her misery. To her dismay, it’s out of the frying pan and into the fire. “You think I’m attractive?” 

“Yes.” 

“R _eally_?” 

There is doubt lacing her tone, doubt that doesn’t sit right with Misty. “’Course. Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” 

She’s smiling now – no, _beaming –_ and shyly tucking some lose tendrils of hair away. When Misty peers closer, she sees tears beginning to brim in the whites of her eyes. 

Misty is suddenly on alert, legs ready to carry her over to Cordelia at a moment’s notice. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry.” She wipes at her eyes, “I just – I never thought I’d be told that again.” 

The confession is enough to wind Misty, who stares at the gorgeous woman the same way she’d look at a three headed cat. “Cordelia.” She says her name slowly, accent wrapping sweetly and fondly around each syllable. “You’re beautiful.” 

She’s sniffling now, lips doing a yoyo between up and down, wobbling the entire time. 

Cordelia shrugs, “I wish I felt it.” 

Reaching over, she connects their hands tightly together, trying to ignore the way her flesh buzzes with something akin to electricity. “I’m tellin’ you that you are.” She gives a wry smile, “don’t ya believe me?” 

There’s no response, but the smiles seem to win the ongoing battle and usurp everything else in its place. Misty’s heart pours with a mixture of triumph and joy, especially as fingers interlace with hers in an intricate knot. 

It’s as though as invisible force travels from Cordelia, wrapping itself around the Cajun and beckoning her forward ‘cause she’s striding the small distance around the table and embracing her. With one sat and one stood, it’s slightly awkward, but neither make to move. In fact, Cordelia spins in her seat and further tightens Misty’s grip on her. 

“You are one of the most beautiful people I know.” 

It’s a lie. Cordelia _is_ the most beautiful person she knows. 

The same person who’s sniffling into her waist and trembling in her arms. Misty holds as close as physically possible. She’s sure she can hear a mumbled “thank you” against her clothes, though it’s awfully quiet. 

A hand idly strokes through her soft, coconutty hair, stopping when it meets some resistance. Glancing down, laughter bubbles from her lips, enough to tug Cordelia’s head tilting upwards. 

“What?” 

“You have flour in your hair.” She smirks, beginning to smooth it out, then jokes, “honestly, can’t take you anywhere.” 

Cordelia sits the entire time she cleans it out, eyes closed and chest expanding in long, slow breaths. Neither of their smiles falter, not for a second, and that’s how Misty knows that they're going to be just fine, awkwardness or not. 

… 

It becomes the norm for Cordelia to join her most Friday nights, and she learns with time how to steady her feelings – _most_ of the time, anyway. 

Even when Cordelia gets a small job working for her mom’s law firm, they spend nearly every waking minute with each other. Often in a comfortable silence, but most of the time filled with delightful laughter and music, and the tenderest of smiles. 

She convinces her to get take out one night, having been craving a selection of friend foods all day, and the pair sit on the couch with legs splayed over one another in such a way that she isn’t sure whose are whose anymore. Cordelia holds the take out box close to her lips, slowly eating the noodles and concentrating on the movie that’s playing. 

Times like this are when Misty could forget, where she could think of them as a couple living out a simple, domestic life. How she aches for such a thing. 

Sighing loudly in her head, she frowns. 

She _needs_ to tell her how she feels. 

… 

Which shouldn’t be so hard, should it? 

Then why does it feel like the world is going to swallow her up every single time she tries to bring it up? 

The fear of rejection looms over her like a persistent storm cloud, refusing to give her a minute peace. 

It’s a slow afternoon when she next considers it, and with rain battering the large windows around them, the two mooch around the house. Most of the housework done – and Cordelia contently practising her braille – Misty sits cross legged on the couch with her guitar. 

Humming a pretty tune, she strums easily and gives a toothy grin as it echoes around the dim room. She wouldn’t say that she’s an expert, but she certainly isn’t _bad_. And as she continues to play the simple song to herself, she doesn’t notice Cordelia stop in her own task and lift her head to listen fondly. 

“What song is that?” She asks as the last note lingers in the calm air. 

Misty jumps in surprise, fingers accidentally slamming against the strings as she spins completely around and stares at Cordelia in the corner of the room. “Uh, it’s an _Elvis Presley_ one.” She fails to mention that its title is ‘I _can’t help falling in love with you_ ’, for obvious reasons. 

Although maybe confessing her feeling through song might be the way to go. That’s romantic, right? 

Cordelia hums. “You’re really good. Have you always played?” 

“Since I was little, yeah.” She thinks back to her Daddy teaching her chords against a late campfire and the midnight music of the swamp. “These days I don’t really play as much as I used to.” 

“Why not?” Cordelia probes with interest. 

Offering a shrug, Misty sighs. “Gotta be in the mood, I guess.” She fills the awkwardness that nestles between them with a stray run of chords, only noticing that Cordelia is moving toward her when she sees shadows in her peripheral. 

She reaches out for Misty, making sure that she’s not about to sit on her before she lowers herself in the small spot between the arm and the Cajun. Looking to her expectantly, she leaves Misty wondering what exactly in going on in that mind of hers. She thinks she’d do anything just for the smallest of peeks. 

She smiles affectionately. “I always wanted to play the guitar, you know?” 

“Well, you’re all fancy and know the piano.” Misty playfully knocks their shoulders together, revelling in the way Cordelia smiles with so much ease and joy. She then gets a giddy idea, prompting her to tell Cordelia to remain still as she gently places the guitar strap over her head. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’ll teach ya some chords,” she beams excitedly, 

With the guitar on her lap, Cordelia’s fingers gingerly wrap around it as she pulls it into an awkward position. “Okay,” she breathes, seemingly aware of Misty’s presence so close to her. 

The younger blonde leads her hand with ease. “Right, so there’s six strings.” She guides those fingers over each string individually, telling Cordelia its lettered name, too scared to glance up at her as her nerves refuse to settle. Even the very feel of skin on hers has shocks flowing through her fingertips. 

“Then with this hand, you hold the strings down. If you want a D major, for example, you gotta put your fingers here, here and there.” 

Cordelia slowly tests out the chord with a gentle strum, smiling as it doesn’t sound terrible. They try another, then one more, Misty helping her each step of the way until she can play a couple of clumsy notes. 

A chuckle lingers on her lips. “You’re doin’ good.” 

“Only if you’re there to operate my hand.” Cordelia laughs dryly, though is unable to keep the delight from her features. 

The sound lures Misty’s own gaze upwards despite how much she fights it, and then she’s staring into the alluring face, suddenly winded. “I’d do that,” she half jokes, half means it with very fibre of her being. 

It would lead nicely to another confession, she concludes, one where she tells Cordelia that she wants more than this and she’s willing to quit her job and run away to the far ends of the Earth if it means that she can feel those lips or hers. Her heart cries out, beating the most longing of songs for Cordelia, dejected as it realizes she can’t hear it. 

She does, however, let her smile melt into a more serious tug of features, 

Misty matches it, her own showing her confliction. If she didn’t fear the repercussions, she’d grab hold of Cordelia and utter words along the lines of “ _I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you_ ”. 

But all she can think about is the line that it would cross. That stupid, frustrating professional line that she doesn’t just want to tiptoe over. She wants to take a damn run up and hurtle over said line with all her might in heartfelt confessions of love and affection. 

Cordelia continues to pause, and Misty quickly loses her nerve. 

She sighs, doing her best to hide the forlorn nature of it. “Come on, I’ll teach you another one.” 

… 

“Do you like your job, Misty?” 

She isn’t sure why she finds herself bristling at the mention of the job, but it leaves her insides with a tinge of distaste. 

They’ve just finished their dinner, and Misty had been happily washing the dishes when the question was thoughtfully thrown her way. She places the plate back into the bubbly water and swivels on the spot. “Why do you ask?” 

The way Cordelia’s smirk penetrates her vision has Misty’s guts knotting together in both fear and excitement. It’s so strange, how such a small action can cause such a big response in her, something that’s all too foreign. The older blonde’s face is suddenly resting between her two palms, waiting for an answer. 

“Can’t I ask questions?” 

“’Course.” Misty chuckles nervously, a damp hand reaching up to run through her dishevelled curls. “Seems random, is all.” 

Her face softens. “I was thinking about you.” 

“ _Oh_?” 

“Not like _that_.” Cordelia shakes her head in mock annoyance, but her grin gives her away. “I was wondering what it was like in the other places that you worked.” 

In all honesty, the Cajun hasn’t really thought about her previous work – by now she’s well into half a year working here, and Cordelia takes up so much space is her thoughts that sometimes there’s little room for others. Maybe that’s the reason she’s in this mess. 

Still, her chest grows fond as she recalls the other places she’s lived. 

Cordelia must grow impatient, ‘cause she’s tugging her from those thoughts. “Did you like the other people?” If Misty is reading into the way Cordelia’s lips twist unsurely around the words, she’d think that maybe there’s some jealously there. 

But she doesn’t allow herself to think that way, or at least she _tries_ not to. 

“Yeah, they were all nice.” 

That clearly isn’t enough for her, as her forehead is folding into a tight knot. “Just nice?” 

Misty hesitates. “I guess.” Lifting herself easily, she jumps up onto the counter, swinging her legs back and forth. “Miss Rosita used to make the _best_ desserts.” Her mouth waters in distant memory, followed by a curt chuckle. “Well, when she remembered the right ingredients.” As her grin grows, her eyes shine and the corners of her eyes crinkle together. “She was really sweet.” 

Across the room, Cordelia listens intently, her expression now inscrutable. “How come you left?” 

Heaving in a deep breath, she exhales equally as long. 

“She died.” 

“I'm sorry.” 

She gives a sad smile. “It’s okay – happens a lot in this job.” 

There’s a respectful moment of silence before she cautiously trudges on. “Was that recently?” 

“Ah, no – almost like, two years now. Before I came here, I helped look after a little girl that had been in an accident.” 

Cordelia’s face tugs sympathetically, head dipping in thought. 

“She got better though. Well, better enough that they thought she didn’t need a full-time carer. Then after that I got a call from your mom, and I guess the rest is history.” It’s a rather simple version of her almost five year career, but she isn’t one to dwell too much on the past. 

“Do you like it?” She asks again. 

Confusion washes over her. “Here? ‘Course I do.” 

“No.” She corrects gently. “Your job? Do you like being a carer?” 

That question has her stumbling over her words for a second, pausing to well and truly _think_. True, this isn’t where she saw herself as a little girl, but it’s rewarding in its own ways – something she can be proud of. “I - I like to help people,” she says honestly, “and this job lets me do that.” 

Misty peers over at Cordelia, eyes filled with such intensity that she wonders if the older blonde can feel it searing into her smooth skin. “And I like being here.” 

“I like you being here too,” she agrees, head tilting shyly and teeth feeling for lips again. Misty forces herself to glance away, suddenly finding the toaster all too interesting. 

And this is it, she thinks. This is the moment to tell Cordelia that she has feelings for her and she doesn’t want to work for her anymore. To break all barriers between them and allow for any natural attractive to be free. 

She thinks about it, she really does. So hard that her brain begins to ache with effort and her heart seizes tightly in her chest. 

“How long do you think you’ll be here?” Cordelia questions with a strain to her words, like she’s scared of the answer. 

To say she’s dumbfounded is a statement, more so at the way Cordelia is suddenly curling into herself apprehensively. 

“As long as you need me.” 

Maybe it’s not the finite answer she needs, but she feels it answers a different question, one that perhaps Cordelia is too unsure to ask. Still, the thought that she one day will most likely leave here has her shoulders sinking under an invisible weight, and lips pushing into an unmoving line. 

It hangs in the air for both to digest a little longer, until the suddenly uplifted Cordelia lets out a mischievous laugh. “Who’s your favorite person that you’ve worked for?” 

“That ain’t fair,” she grins in return, “no one else is here to defend themselves.” 

“Are you saying that I’m _not_ your favorite?” 

Misty matches smirk with one of her own, “do you _want_ to be my favorite?” 

She quickly sits straighter, hands fidgeting over things that don’t need to be bothered with. Misty bows her own head in understanding, having found herself do such a thing so often in recent weeks. “Well,” Cordelia starts quietly, “would that be a bad thing?” 

“Not at all. Being my favorite might come with special privileges.” 

“Like what?” she raises her brow. 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” 

“ _Misty_!” 

Her jaw locks playfully as Misty concludes that there’s something awfully thrilling about winding Cordelia up. Still, she’d be lying to herself – and her friend – if she doesn’t admit it out loud. “Alright, _fine_. You might be. Happy?” 

She bounces like a child who’s got her own way, beaming with intention. 

Misty finds herself blushing at her own confession, as though she’s confessed an undying love rather than a simple bout of favoritism. 

When they’re both sleepily sat on the couch later than night, not quite ready to retire to their rooms, but neither paying attention to anything much, Cordelia turns to her with hooded eyes and a reaching hand. “You’re my favorite, too, you know.” 

She’s so happy that she’s about ready to go and shout that news from the rooftops. She doesn’t, but she _thinks_ about it, an awful lot. 

They eventually do climb up the stairs, and she escorts Cordelia to her room without really having a reason to. Cordelia doesn’t seem to mind – in fact, her fingers hold Misty’s own in a tight embrace. As they let go, she swears the air around them is now cold as ice. “Hmm,” she breathes, “sleep well.” 

The sentiment is echoed. Just as she’s turning to leave, the floorboards creaking under her weight, she picks up Cordelia gently calling her name. 

Peering over her shoulder, she sees her nervously clutching to the doorframe, face thoughtful and doubtful and altogether unsure. It unsettles Misty’s stomach. “Yeah?” 

“Did you mean what you said? About staying as long as I need you?” 

She worries her lip nervously, like she shouldn’t even be asking the question that comes out in a hushed tone. 

Misty’s heart warms at the sight, and she hopes that such warmth spreads over to the woman in front of her. “I wouldn’t lie to you.” It’s supposed to come out light-hearted, but there’s such a raw honesty to her words that she suddenly experiences a pang of vulnerability. 

“So that’s a yes?” 

“Yeah.” 

Cordelia smiles from ear to ear. “Good - that’s. . . _good_ to know.” 

“Good.” She mimics cheerfully. 

There’s more to be said, she knows, burning away at the forefront of her mind. She succeeds in keeping those words at bay, despite how they fight her so. “I’ll see you in the mornin’” Misty eventually says, making to retreat to her own room. 

Once on the bed, she finds sleep is no longer a priority, coming second to her overactive brain. Cordeia’s expression passes fondly in her memory, the trepidation lighting the pretty features on her face as she’d dared to ask. The words circle around her mind, unable to escape. _As long as I need you_ , she’d said. 

It poses to Misty a pretty important realization, one where she thinks she needs Cordelia just as much as she needs her. 

And with that idea sinking in uncomfortably and a bittersweet ache overwhelming the muscles in her heart, she falls into a restless sleep. 


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again for all the lovely comments and kudos! They're really super encouraging. Enjoy the final chapter guys :)

Misty takes extra caution to wake before Cordelia the day of her birthday, tiptoeing down the stairs as not to stir a sound in the house. 

It doesn’t take long for her to whip up a storm in the kitchen, soon surrounding by heavenly smells and the residual heat of her own cooking. Outside, rain clatters rudely against the window, threatening to ruin the peace of her world. It doesn’t. Misty forbids it to place a damper on her excitement about the day ahead and, with a satisfied smile, she’s scooping an assortment of mismatches plates and bowls onto a large, wooden tray. 

She chews the inside of her mouth as she regards the single stemmed marigold she’s freshly picked from the garden, with stray raindrops still clinging to its petals. Placed off and on the tray in a battle of indecisiveness, she wonders if it's too much, but then decides with a firm nod that Cordelia will appreciate it, and that’s all that matters. 

The ascent back up the stairs isn’t as quiet, for the tray clatters with its contents and Misty can hear the steady strum of her own heartbeat. 

There are little signs of life as she knows the first time, fingers trembling against one another. The next, she hears the springs of the mattress and rustling of sheets, before a welcoming, “come in.” 

With a growing and nervous smile, she nudges the door open with her hip. “Now, I know you said no wake up calls, but I thought today warranted an exception.” Eyes migrating from keeping the array of foods steady in her grasp up to Cordelia’s slender body against crisp white sheets, she finds herself enthralled. Her sinewy legs poke out of the ends, drawing the Cajun’s attention for longer than she cares to admit. 

She blinks, then reprimands herself in an instant. _Stop looking at her like she’s a goddamn piece of meat!_

Although confused, Cordelia is wearing the most serene of smiles that welcomes Misty in its warm glow, the sunshine she’d been seeking on such a dreary day. She tries to keep her eyes averted from the expanse of tempting skin on display from Cordelia, and instead sits herself on the edge of the bed. 

“I made you breakfast,” she says, nervously chewing her lower lip, awaiting approval. “Happy birthday, Delia,” Misty throws in for good measure, “it’s all your favorites.” 

Cordelia tsks at her having spent the morning laboring over her, yet she’s still grinning, face shining appreciatively. With gentle movements, Misty first passes her the freshly brewed coffee and then the cooling piece of French toast, watching in anticipation as she takes the first bite. Eyes close in joy, mumbled noises of pleasure sounding out around the food. 

Across from her, Misty bolsters with unrivalled pride and relief. 

The toast is eaten so quickly it could match Misty’s appetite, followed by eggs and bacon, then syrup laced pancakes. Each receive their own chorus of approval, and by the time Cordelia is almost finished, Misty is swimming in a pool of her own happiness. 

She lays on her front now, making casual conversation with Cordelia about the party later. 

Eyes never stray as Cordelia leans back in one graceful movement, stretching out her arms and legs. The hand nearest to her face reaches up to wipe sleep from the corners of her eyes. “I am so full,” she sighs out. 

“But you ain’t eaten your fruit yet.” Misty insists, pushing forward the bowl of strawberries and raspberries.

Cordelia reaches, though her hand misses its mark and makes contact with the flower. Beside her, Misty stiffens and hopes that she imagines the way her heart skips a long beat. 

The older blonde manages to wrap thin fingers around the vase after a few seconds of struggling, then she brings the single flower to her nose and inhales deeply. Fingers caress its petals fondly, then she turns, questioning. “It’s wet.” 

“Well, yeah - it is raining outside.” 

She blinks, lips parting briefly until they settle into a thoughtful line. 

Far too long is spent in such a way, ‘cause Misty suddenly feels stifled by the silence and reaches for the fruit again, hoping to distract her. “Here,” she lifts a large piece of strawberry to Cordelia’s lips. “Open your mouth.” 

It’s more of a question than a demand, and Cordelia debates it with forehead knitted together but the corners of her lips twitching with the greatest desire to smile. She relents. Misty, with the most concentration she thinks she’s ever summoned in her life, places the sweet fruit on her tongue, marvelling at the sight of those plump lips so close. 

One grazes over her fingers, all but sending her into a frenzy. This time, she’s determined not to run from the wayward sparks that Cordelia sends through her body. 

Cordelia chews happily, savoring the taste with a gentle hum. 

“I didn’t realize that this was part of the job description.” 

At those words, Misty just about chokes on thin air. 

Peering up through her thick eyelashes, she finds Cordelia with head tilted and expression calm, a stark contrast to Misty’s own inner turmoil. “It isn’t.” She is real glad that Cordelia can’t see the way her ears grow red hot with a blush. 

“ _Oh_.” She smirks. 

And for the quickest of flashes, Misty wonders what the teasing tone means, until she’s speaking again and wiping any rational thoughts from forming. 

“Must be one of those special privileges,” she decides with a shrug, still smirking and expression growing coyer by the second. “For being your favorite.” 

“You won’t be my favorite if you carry on teasin’ me.” 

There’s a pout, the most adorable, tempting little thing that Misty considers leaning over and kissing away from her lips. 

Still, she continues to tease, “you can’t say that, It's my birthday.” 

“Won’t be tomorrow,” she laughs, matching Cordelia’s taunting with some of her own. 

But despite the giggles and growing thickness in the air around them, Cordelia is leaning forward and reaching out for Misty’s touch. She almost knocks over the orange juice in her search, though eventually finds those ring clasped fingers. “Thank you,” she says, all serious and grateful. “This is . . . no one has ever done this for me before.” 

She reels at the revelation, but keeps it to herself. No good in getting angry at what other people didn’t do and instead focus on what she _can_ do. 

“My pleasure,” she confesses lovingly, then repeats, “happy birthday.” 

Their hands squeeze together, unified in their content, and the rain gives background noise to each of their own thoughts. 

When Misty blinks back into the moment, she smiles down at their interlaced fingers and then takes hold of the bowl once more. “Come on, _favorite_ , you need to finish your breakfast.” Cordelia chuckles, no resistance found in her response as she allows Misty to hand feed her more of the fruit in what many people would call an intimate moment. Misty tries her darndest not the think like that, until she sees the steady blush creeping along every inch of Cordelia’s delicate skin. And she can feel her own, growing to match. 

...

She watches Cordelia beneath hooded eyes as she lets Queenie spin her softly to the music. Her fingers hold on tight while her legs swing loosely with the movement. By now, she’s on maybe her third drink so her inhibitions are well and truly gone. 

Misty nurses a virgin cocktail (much to the protest of her friends) and watches the others with interest. They seem all too sloppy when in the comfort of a house with a never-ending supply of alcohol and no other prying eyes. 

“Haven’t seen you pine this much since your crush on Taylor Swift.” Madison drops down next to her, dress rising high against her thighs. She haphazardly tugs it lower and leans into the Cajun. 

“Don’t wanna hear it.” She mumbles. 

A wicked grin appears as she toys with the rim of her glass. “You know, if you’re just horny I can get you any vibrator you like.” Misty is already rolling her eyes, arms folding haughtily across her chest, “and if it’s sex you need, I always thought we’d be wild in bed together. Think of the hate sex.” 

Scoffing, she glares at the girl. “In your dreams.” 

She huffs, then follows Misty’s gaze as it moves across the room. “You know, if you’re gonna be such a little bitch about it, I’ll just tell her for you.” 

“ _No_ _!_ ” 

Misty is suddenly straight in her seat, willing to bind and hide Madison if that’s the case ‘cause she knows all too well that the girl is fully capable of that. She doesn’t want her confession to be an insensitive off comment about attraction – she wants it to _mean_ something. 

She shrinks under Madison’s superior smirk. “Maddy, if you do that, I swear to god you will live to regret it.” 

“Oh.” Her eyes flash. “Dangerous. Don’t tease me, Misty.” 

“Fuck off,” she mumbles. 

Over her laughter, she manages to speak. “You could just put a big, shiny bow on yourself and be her present. Ah, wait. She wouldn’t be able to _see_ that . . .” She taps the side of her jaw thoughtfully. 

“I am goin’ to punch you.” 

It is _not_ an empty threat, and Madison must hear that in her voice (or see her clenching fist) as she’s slowly rising to her feet, wiggling her ass at the same time. “You are so boring, swampy. You never let me have fun.” 

“That’s ‘cause you’re a bitch,” she concludes, raising her glass in a mocking toast, “and you always will be.” 

“Charming.” 

She watches Madison leave with a sneer and is soon standing herself, deciding that she needs at least one drink to get her through Madison’s presence. She’s pouring some amber colored whisky in the kitchen when she hears Cordelia’s cane before her ears catch soft footsteps. Glancing up, she smiles. “Hey Cordelia.” 

The woman jumps slightly from where she’s feeling for the drinks – all laid out neatly in specific spots by Misty before the party began – and grins sheepishly. “I didn’t realize you were in here.” She’s suddenly fumbling with her hair and ducking her head softly. 

Misty allows her to take in the sight of Cordelia, wearing a pretty black dress that begins to show off her upper thighs. It’s a far cry from what she usually wears, though not altogether unwelcome. She is nothing short of a vision in front of Misty, flushed cheeks and plump lips, with slow breaths filling the quiet room. 

She notes that Cordelia is staying away from the alcohol, and to be honest this is Misty’s first drink, too. She tells herself that she’s trying her best to be professional, that getting drunk isn’t exactly in her job description, but she knows all too well that she’s trying to keep her wits about her. And maybe Cordelia is too. 

The last time they’d drank together hadn’t fared all too well. 

And the way Cordelia looks tonight, any more than one glass of whisky and Misty _won’t_ be held accountable for her actions. 

“Just gettin' a drink,” she replies softly, eyes never leaving the older blonde. There’s a long beat that follows, “you havin’ fun?” 

Cordelia nods quickly, biting her lower lip. As usual, the action leaves Misty transfixed, aroused and wondering what it would be like to feel her own teeth on those luscious lips. She inwardly groans, taking a painful gulp of whisky to help her dry throat. 

“This is the best birthday that I’ve had in years,” she says honestly, then gives a soft head shake and laughs sadly, “which, considering the year I’ve had, says a lot.” 

Misty purses her lips, brain working overtime to muster to best reply. She thinks to their moment this morning, which had ended with them snuggling in her bed listening to _Friends_ as they'd talked and talked about everything and nothing. The memory springs a smile onto her features.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a good time.” 

“Me too.” 

They spend the next few minutes in their own bubble, just the breathing in each other's presence without words, only smiles and changing expression. Misty dares not think about how lovesick she must appear right now, ‘cause the way Cordelia’s aura makes her feel is so overwhelming, so mystifying that she’s could lose herself in it quite happily. 

She’s grinning then, watching Cordelia holding out an expectant hand nowhere near where Misty is stood. With a soft laugh, she walks the many paces between them and grabs hold of it tightly, brushing her shoulder against Cordelia’s. “Come on, the party need its guest of honor.” 

Cordelia beams, still blushing under Misty’s intense study that manages to transcend sight. 

As they return to the party, they’re met with a group growing drunker by the second. Misty finds a spot on the couch for them, barely big enough for the two, yet the thought of having to move away from Cordelia makes her heart ache. 

Besides, those soft, warm fingers are glued to hers; she’s not quite ready to let go. 

They sit so close together that Cordelia may as well be sat on her lap. Rather than scoot away, she turns in Misty’s general direction with the widest of smiles. Suddenly breathless, Misty ignores the voice in her head saying to kiss her, no matter how insistent it becomes. 

She really fucking wants to. 

Teeth tugging at her lips as though to hold them in place, Misty is relieved when their attention is dragged elsewhere. 

“Let’s play a game!” Coco says, clasping her hands together excitedly and eyes glistening. 

There’s a mixture of both groans and cheers from the group, even someone who throws a pillow in her direction. The movement has Misty on high alert in case something is accidentally aimed Cordelia’s way, leaning forward protectively. 

“Never have I ever?” 

“No,” Zoe frowns, “let’s play truth or dare.” 

Madison is rolling her eyes but keeping her mouth firmly shut, while the others seem to humor Coco and Zoe. Misty now finds herself shrinking against the couch (and coincidentally Cordelia) in hopes that she can just spectate. 

“I haven’t played this game in years.” Cordelia whispers to her, almost giddily. 

The excitement briefly spreads to the Cajun, who grins like a fool in her direction. “Me either.” She feels nervousness gnaw at her stomach all of a sudden, “maybe we can find out all your secrets.” 

Cordelia freezes for all of a few seconds, face paling and lips parting open in surprise. Her grip on Misty’s hand falters, momentarily, until the color floods back into her features. With her other hand, she’s idly rolling the hem of her dress between her fingers. 

“I don’t have any secrets.” She whispers. 

Why doesn’t Misty believe her? 

“Hey, Misty, Cordelia, _pay attention!_ ” 

Misty laughs, muttering under her breath, “now you’re gettin’ me in trouble.” 

All she gets in reply is an impish grin. 

As expected, the game grows sillier with time, with the girls making Zoe sext Kyle in the dirtiest way she knows how to, and Queenie and Nan having to make out (with tongues) for a whole minute. The entire time, Cordelia sits laughing away next to her, seemingly leaning in closer with every second. 

When Misty’s arm grows dead under the other woman’s weight, she casually slings it around Cordelia’s shoulder and hopes that no one notices. They’re too entranced in the game to look their way. She feels the way the older blonde initially tenses, whether from surprise or discomfort, but all too quickly she settles into the new position. 

“Your turn, Delia.” 

“Um,” she pauses in contemplation, surely able to feel all of their eyes on her. “Dare?” 

Queenie chuckles. “You don’t sound so convinced?” 

She smiles wickedly. “Dare, definitely.” 

Next to her, Misty stares with shocked eyes; she had _not_ expected that. 

There’s a general hum and chatter of what on earth they’re going to make her do, before it’s decided with a series of smirks. “I dare you to have a shot of Madison’s making.” 

Cordelia is clearly regretting her decision as Madison gleefully announces every bit of alcohol that she’s throwing into the shot. 

“Come on,” Misty tries, “that’s enough – you don’t wanna kill her!” 

“Oh hush. I’ve been drinking these babies since I was ten, and look how well I turned out.” She smugly throws in a dash of vodka, then some bicardi, alongside the other five spirits currently swirling in there. Misty feels sick just _looking_ at it. 

Moments later it is gently placed in Cordelia’s hand, and Misty notes that the other one is still in hers. She sheepishly relaxes her grip on it, watching the scene in anticipation. 

To her credit, Cordelia manages to down the shot quite quickly, the liquid sliding down her throat for all to see. As the glass is pulled away, however, she erupts into a series of coughs, eyes watering and voice akin to a wheeze. “You _voluntarily_ drink that, Madison?” She sounds horrified, much to the amusement of everyone else. 

All except Misty, who finds herself hovering like some sort of protective parent. 

Madison grins. “You get used to them. Anyway, you choose someone.” 

She just about manages to gather herself to think, until she turns to her left with a grin. “Misty.” 

Misty catches the unanimous eye roll of her friends. 

She turns her focus back to Cordelia, smiling gently. “Truth.” She doesn’t miss a beat. 

And neither does Cordelia, as it turns out. 

“What type of girl do you go for in a girlfriend?” 

She feels like someone has reached inside her and stolen every ounce of breath from her lungs. Well, this night is sure full of surprises, and now she is wracking her brain of all and any words to help her in this situation. Apparently when that mysterious force stole her breath, they decided that her vocabulary was theirs, too. 

Her lips fumble around the first thing that comes to her mind. “A girlfriend?” 

“Yeah,” she says, voice thick and heavy, as though this isn’t some fun game anymore – as if it means something much more different. “You never told Coco what qualities you like in a woman.” 

From across the room, Coco is smirking and looking to Cordelia with the uttermost pride and a “that’s my girl” expression. 

Misty is ready for the ground to open up and swallow her into the darkness where she doesn’t have to answer this question, _again_. Last time she narrowly escaped it; she fears she won’t be so lucky now. 

“I . . .” 

She pauses, staring to Cordelia. From the way her lips are twitching with a smirk, tongue poking out ever so slightly and . . . is she _teasing_ her? Misty has known Cordelia for long enough to tell that she’s acting differently all of a sudden, and she can’t deny the heady tension growing between them. 

A decisive smile settling on her own lips, she allows herself to play along, curious to see how far she can take this, despite all rational thoughts in her head screaming at her not to. 

“Well, I like lots of women,” she begins coyly, “but my most favorite are blondes.” 

“Oh?” 

“Hmmm. They’re awfully pretty. And I – I _always_ go for woman who are older than me.” 

Cordelia’s breath hitches, just barely, but her tuned ears catch it. “How much older?” 

Misty’s voice is low, quiet. “I dunno, five or six years older.” 

Her mouth goes from the perfect ‘o’ before reforming into a curious grin. She’s drawn in by Misty’s words, ignoring of the tittering that shared glances that surround them. “What else?” 

“Strong women,” she continues with a nod, “some would say stubborn as hell, but I’d say strong, determined. I _really_ like that.” Misty wonders if Cordelia can hear the way her heart rattles within its cage, or how her inside tremble and quiver excitedly. If she does, it does little to deter her. 

“Just strong?” Cordelia quirks a brow, face light and giddy and flushed in the most beautiful of ways. 

She’s shaking her head with a giggle, hair moving loosely with the action. “Not just that. They have to be kind and funny . . . and smart.” Through hooded eyes, she stares and smirks. “There is nothin’ more attractive than an educated woman.” 

“ _Oh my god_.” 

Misty snaps her head in the direction where Madison is pretending to gag, flipping her off smugly. If her arm wasn’t wrapped around Cordelia and if the woman wasn’t sat so close, she’d jump out of her seat and put the girl in her place. As it is, she’s quite comfortable. 

“Alright.” She clears her throat, pretending that she hasn’t just shared a strangely intimate moment with Cordelia in front of all of her friends. “Who is next?” 

Mallory stares, dumbfound. “How is anyone gonna beat that?” 

“Just shut up and pick truth or dare,” she mumbles, reaching for her drink and downing it in one quick swoop. 

And so the game resumes. 

But the room is different, and Misty is all too aware of that. Cordelia goes quiet, noticeably so, with lips pursed and forehead scrunched together in thought. She hovers, lips so close to Cordelia’s ear that the older blonde shivers as she speaks. “You okay, Delia?” Concern etches her voice. 

Cordelia twists, their faces inches apart, and gives the happiest of sighs. “I am wonderful.” The hand that at one point was holding onto Misty’s now lingers on the Cajun’s thigh, just above the knee, burning her bare skin with its touch. It sends a jolt of arousal straight to her core, which pulses in wanting. 

On the outside, she appears calm as ever, but on the inside, she is freaking the fuck out. 

Is it just in her head, or is Cordelia sending her some sort of signal? 

She tries her best to concentrate on the world around her, which seems dizzy despite only having one drink. Forcing out shaky breaths, Misty is unable to deny her reaction to Cordelia’s touch. In her defence, Cordelia at some point begins to sweep her thumb up and down the sensitive inside of her thigh, sending her into a frenzy. 

Then there’s the scrape of blunt fingernails, leaving fire in their path and Misty isn’t sure how she hasn’t melted on the spot. 

She blinks, and breathes, and sighs, but at no point does she move to take away the touch. ‘Cause she might work for Cordelia (and this is _totally_ inappropriate) but she wants it more than anything she’s ever wanted before. 

As the pressure of those fingers builds, it takes all her power not to moan out loud. Misty does, however, leans in closer and practically whine out Cordelia’s name is question and confusion, and _desire_. 

“Shhh,” Cordelia is holding back a smirk with her teeth, “not yet.” 

_Not yet?!_

For a brief moment, she wonders if she’s died and gone to heaven _._

Then she spies Madison in the corner and realizes that’s an impossibility. 

The party is suddenly agonizingly long, with each second of her growing torture enough to have her getting up for another drink, if only to settle her nerves. When she squeezes back down into her empty spot, that hand is right back where it started and reminding Misty that this is very much real. 

… 

It’s almost two am before she’s practically shoving the last of the group out of the door, her chest heaving with the thoughts of what’s going to happen next and eyed dazed in exhilaration. 

“Thanks for comin’.” Misty rushes out to Queenie and Coco, “was a fun night, we should do this again sometime.” 

She’s hastily closing the door without awaiting a response when she hears Coco calling out. 

“What?” she snaps much more annoyed than she intended, legs rubbing together slowly. All she can think about is Cordelia in the house, alone . . . waiting for _her_. 

“I think I’ve left my bag.” 

She rolls her eyes so hard that they just about roll to the back of her head, and Queenie bursts into laughter. 

“Come on,” she grabs Coco’s arms, “think Misty is going to burst into flames if we make her wait any longer.” 

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.” 

“But my _bag_ – " Coco whines in her drunken state. 

Impatiently, Misty sighs and continues to close the door once again. “Come back in the mornin’.” The door slams with a rattle against the frame. “ _Night!_ ” She calls out loudly, walking away from where Coco is calling after her. 

She has something _way_ more important to deal with. 

Cordelia is sat with her legs neatly tucked against her body, smiling and humming along to the music that flows around the room. 

Misty finds herself leaning against the wall and staring at her in admiration, thinking how wonderfully beautiful she looks in that moment. With her eyes closed and content written all over her expression, it’s enough to fill Misty’s heart. 

“I know you’re there, Misty.” 

She blinks, allowing a nervous chuckle to fall from her lips. “Ah, you got me.” 

Tilting her head, she curiously asks. “Why were you so quiet?” 

“I -” Misty grins, “I was just thinking how happy you looked.” 

“I am." 

Misty pads across the room and lowers herself onto the couch beside Cordelia, yearning for her touch once more. 

“It’s because of you.” 

“Me?” 

“ _You_ make me happy, Misty. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.” 

She isn’t expecting that, not at all, and she beams as bright as the moon, words catching in her throat. 

“There is _one_ problem though.” Cordelia is swivelling in her seat, smirking and the tip of her tongue poking between pink lips in the most entrancing of displays. 

Misty balks. “Problem?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what exactly is that?” 

“When you were talking about the women you’re attracted to, you were too vague.” She rests her chin in her hand and sighs, “I want more detail.” 

Catching on all too quickly, she’s shuffling closer. Their legs knock against each other in a fight for dominance that neither seem to win. “What do you wanna know?” 

“ _Everything_.” 

The sultry way the words float over to her is enough to keep her arousal sky high, and just gathering words into a recognizable sentence is a struggle. But she manages, for Cordelia’s stake. “Well, in addition to being blonde, strong, smart, kind . . . a good cook is always nice. The way to my heart is with food, ya know?” 

Cordelia grins along with her, listening intently. “And she’d love to read and garden, and sunbathe – she'd look really pretty doin’ that.” She watches the older blonde from the corner of her eyes, through her thick lashes, thrilled with how ecstatic she looks. “Oh, and I have a thing for girls who can speak French and whose favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry.” She smirks, “is that specific enough for you?” 

She hums, fatigue clear in her features despite her keen interest in Misty. 

“What about –” 

“Can I kiss you, Cordelia?” 

Her frank question cuts across the room like a knife, sending the pair into silence despite the music and their own heavy breathing. It’s crossing a professional line that she no longer cares about, that she doesn’t want to even cast a thought toward. 

She just prays that Cordelia feels the same way. 

Judging by where her hand was merely fifteen minutes ago, Misty has an inkling that she might do. 

“Yes,” she chokes out, words brimming relief and elation. 

Misty mirrors it, so teaming with excited energy that she struggles to sit still. Adoringly gazing toward Cordelia, she leans into closer, smiling as hands reach out and eventually find her face. They cup it ever so gently, holding her steady and close. 

Hands falling over Cordelia’s, Misty does what she’s thought of in her daydreams and _finally_ connects their lips. 

It’s everything she ever thought it would be and more, with probing lips pushing and pulling, grazes of teeth against the most sensitive skin, and intoxicating moans pouring from Cordelia. She’d be quite content to listen to them all night long. 

If she has her way, maybe she _will_. 

When Cordelia’s lips open and allow her tongue entrance, Misty deepens the kiss with a smirk. Their nose push against one another as they move and their hot breath mixes. Misty leans forward, inadvertently pushing Cordelia below her against the couch. She catches hers with strong arms, grinning as the older blonde lets out a small yelp into her mouth. 

“You could have warned me.” 

Misty begins to litter not just her mouth but the surrounding addictive skin with kisses. “Hmm. Sorry.” 

She really _isn’t_. 

One of Cordelia’s hands comes to settle on her waist, while the other crawls through the mop of hair atop her head, leaving a ticklish sensation in its wake. She feels that desire crying out once more, having been forcibly subdued for so long. Now with a true release in sight, it’s getting impatient. 

Her hips jut against Cordelia’s thigh, a moan following as the pressure causes a pleasant warmth to spread through her body like wildfire. When the movement becomes more rhythmic, bringing her cries louder and louder, Cordelia suddenly pulls away. Her hair is ragged, chest shuddering with uneven breaths, and lips plump from Misty’s ministrations. 

She’s never looked more beautiful. 

“Upstairs?” she asks, thumb rubbing tight circles on the skin of Misty’s waist in a delightful way. 

Misty steals another kiss, their smooth foreheads coming to rest against one another. “Yeah,” she agrees easily, “c’mon.” 

She isn’t sure whether it’s the alcohol or Cordelia’s influence, but her legs are weaker than she ever remembers. They stumble about like they’re made of jello, which isn’t easy with a beautiful woman clutching onto her. 

But soon they’re in Misty’s room, clothes fumbled at and thrown haphazardly in any direction, leaving Misty to take in the sight of a naked Cordelia in front of her. It’s a nothing short of stunning, something so unreal and erotic that she is left frozen on the spot with a jaw falling open. She admires each and every angle of her body, fingers grazing the skin with care, before her caring lips continue their work after a few impatient words from the older blonde. 

She soon has Cordelia keening beneath her, mumbling out her name desperately, an act that sends a pang of arousal straight to her core that aches with yearning. And not long after her fingers are slipping inside Cordelia for the first time, eliciting the most beautiful symphony of noises from her. 

She’s completely pliable beneath Misty, at the mercy of her hands, growing tighter and tighter around her fingers. Eyes scrunched closed, her nails begin to dig into the Cajun’s smooth skin on her back, briefly bringing with it a surge of pain. She continues to pump her fingers in and out at a steady rhythm, thumb massaging her clit until she practically sings for her. 

Cordelia falls apart beneath her not long after, becoming awfully still as she rides out her orgasm and ends with Misty’s name falling off her lips. Misty grins at her, covered in a thin layer of sweat and watching her chest rise move steadily with her own breaths. A hand rises up, idly flicking over Cordelia’s hard nipples and earning another whine from her. 

“No,” Cordelia pushes her hand away. 

Misty sits up, doing her best not to be offended and failing. “No?” She frowns. “But -” 

A strong grip pulls her down and lips eventually find hers, silencing her. “It’s your turn,” Cordelia whispers, voice all sultry and low in the best of ways. Misty’s eyes widen delightfully, pupils blown. 

Those same hands begin to trail the length of Misty’s willing body, as though etching an image in Cordelia’s mind that she wants to keep. She goes back and forth, leaving a fire in her wake. For a moment, she lets nerves seep into her expression, doubt gnawing away at the corners of her lips. 

The Cajun kisses her forehead lovingly. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.” 

“I want to.” She insists firmly, jaw setting in determination. “I just don’t want to mess it up.” 

Taking hold of trembling fingers, Misty places them over her breast and lingers, “you won’t.” 

That’s all the support that Cordelia seems to require, as she follows the expanse of Misty’s stomach down to her pelvis, and then lower. When daring fingers rub against her swollen sex, Misty feels her breath catch in her throat. The movements start slow, pleasure beginning to bubble inside of her. 

Hips beginning to rock in time with Cordelia’s movement, she allows a throaty groan to start at the bottom of her throat and work all the way up. As if the hand below isn’t enough, Cordelia snakes an arm around Misty’s waist and yanks her closer until her mouth makes contact on chest. 

At first, she merely kisses along the skin, then the nipple, but a moment later there’s teeth and Misty is hissing out her happiness. “Delia,” she sighs out, “please, I – " 

“What is it?” she mumbles against her other breast from migrating lips. 

She scrunches her eyes closed as her stomach starts to knot pleasurably and pressure build below. “I need you.” 

Cordelia laughs. “You have me.” 

“N _o, no, no_ .” A hand reaches up, running through Cordelia’s impossibly soft locks. “I need you inside me.” Her grip on those locks tightens as does the coil inside her. “P _lease_.” 

If there’s any hesitation this time, Misty doesn’t sense it, and she can oh so agonizingly feel a finger waiting just outside her slick entrance. When it slips inside, followed by another, her knees go weak beneath her and Cordelia is the only thing keeping her up. 

The friction feels incredible as the movement continues, only growing in pace, and with those lips returning their journey along her chest, she is overwhelmed by pleasure, ready to succumb at any minute. Over her own cries, she can just about hear Cordelia’s heavy breathing; a truly breath-taking sound. 

And then those surprisingly skilled fingers curl inside of her, causing her body to tense in anticipation. She is completely at Cordelia’s will, hips rocking and moans echoing around the room. Until that knot inside her is so big she thinks she could just about implode, and she’s suddenly giving one final cry of euphoria, her every fibre awash with electricity. 

She’s not sure how much time passes before her wanton movements slow and she’s slumping against Cordelia with a content sigh. 

Eyes still closed, she litters the freckles on her shoulder with fond kisses. But she can see that Cordelia is spent and her eyes are fluttering tiredly against the artificial lighting. Misty languidly lowers herself onto the mattress, tugging the blanket over the pair of them and smiling. 

Cordelia is mirroring said action, reaching for Misty’s arm and frowning when she can’t find it. With a chuckle, the Cajun offers it out willingly and chuckles as Cordelia wraps it around her waist, making Misty the big spoon. She’s not too mad about that. 

They don’t talk about what they’ve just done, whether from exhaustion or fear of what it means. But the room lulls into quiet, with only two erratic heartbeats calling out. She nuzzles her face into the back of Cordelia’s neck, bathing in the scent of coconut and sweet perfume, and closes her eyes. Sleep swiftly comes for her, sending her into a night of dreams about the most wonderful woman. 

… 

The next morning brings with it bird song and a crisp autumn breeze. The window frames a dance of golden and fiery leaves as they clutch onto the branches before winter takes hold. Oh, and did she mention, there‘s a naked Cordelia in her bed? Without a doubt, this is the most beautiful wake up call. 

She blinks a few times, rubbing her eyes just to be sure her mind isn’t playing some cruel joke, but her arm is still firmly on her naked waist. And that feels real enough. Then there’s the steady rise and fall of her chest, and then she sighs in her sleep. Misty watches her like a lovesick fool until the need to pee becomes too much. 

Instantly, she’s overcome with a sense of cold as she vacates the bed, and sighing regretfully over at the sleeping figure as she retreats. _Damn her bladder!_

When she returns, there’s signs of life in the once still figure – smooth legs now stretch against the sheets and lips smack together tiredly as she rolls over. Misty considers going for round two right there and then with such a stunning sight before her, before talking herself out of it. The poor woman looks exhausted. 

“Misty?” she calls out when she feels the empty space next to her. 

The blonde rushes over, lowering herself down. Under her weight, the mattress shifts and squeaks, helping Cordelia to locate her on the bed. When she does, a pair of arms embrace her tightly. 

“Mornin’” Misty smiles, somehow managing to wiggle enough so she’s lay next to her. She grins as their knees knock against one another. 

“Hey.” 

She smirks. “Hey yourself.” 

Cordelia inches closer, head moving to rest just over where Misty’s heart is, as though unintentionally drawn to the object that beats only for her. In a steady movement, Misty begins playing her with hair. 

She’s so relaxed that she thinks she could fall asleep again. Her head begins to bob lower, eyes closed and peaceful until - 

“So. . .” 

Her heart seizes, and she chokes out the word like it’s foreign. “So?” 

“We had sex.” 

“I know,” she grins, “I _was_ there.” 

All quiet and contemplative, Cordelia tilts her head up. “I’ve never slept with a woman before.” 

Misty swallows thickly, her ministrations on Cordelia’s hair coming to a quickly halt. “Do you regret it?” The very thought of her having doubt has Misty’s illusion shattering before her very eyes, chest growing heavier and weaker by the second. 

Thankfully, her reeling is soon put to an end. “No.” 

“Well, I don’t regret it either.” 

And, she supposes, therein lies the real problem here. It’s not a matter of regret, but a matter of something else entirely. Though they may be friends (or maybe, _more_ than friends?), this is not the situation they agreed to. 

While it says in Misty’s contract that she is to tend to the needs of her client, she’s sure that orgasms don’t really come under that clause. If they did, she would have done this a long time ago. No, this is wrong, despite how warm and complete she feels right now, how being close to Cordelia had been the most intimate moment she’s ever felt in her life. 

The bottom line is, she works for Cordelia and by fucking her, things _have_ changed. 

Cordelia must be able to sense her inner turmoil, ‘cause she’s gently kissing along her jawline and rubbing her arm in a soothing manner.

That heavy weight makes home inside of her, dragging her down into dark thoughts. “What am I going to do about my job?” 

“We'll figure it out.” Cordelia punctuates with another kiss. “Don’t worry.” 

She is glad that Cordelia can’t see that very worry that’s painted in all the nooks and crannies on her expression. 

“Hey,” she leans impossibly closer, “how about we got out for breakfast?” 

To be honest, Misty would be happy to spend the day lay in bed like this, but then her stomach grumbles excitedly at the mention of food. “Yeah, sounds good. Think I need to shower first . . . and you need to do something about your hair.” 

“Why?” She grimaces, “what’s wrong with it?” 

“You clearly look like you’ve just had sex.” 

Cordelia gently shoves her away and tugs her back in the same action, sighing happily against her. It takes a whole other hour before either of them make to move, and Misty spends that entire day drowning in worry, even as she sits across from Cordelia eating her favorite breakfast. 

… 

It’s so strange, how everything feels _completely_ different, and then exactly the same at once. 

Have they always been so touchy with one another? Has Cordelia’s laugh always succeeded in making her heart sing like a warbler? She struggles to pinpoint a time when that hadn’t been so other than the first few weeks of adjusting. 

Their day is rather unproductive, as much of a lazy Sunday as the movies depict, with lounging around and the TV talking to itself in the background. 

Cordelia lays nestled between an array of mismatched blankets, a content smile plastered across her lips as her hands run through Misty’s hair. The Cajun is stretched across the couch, feet dangling over the arm slowly. She mewls appreciatively at the feel of gentle fingers massaging all of the stress from her. 

She must at one point fall asleep under the pleasurable ministrations ‘cause she’s suddenly blinking awake to the feel of Cordelia poking her shoulder and chuckling softly. “Misty?” she half sing songs. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Oh, good.” She smirks. “I was a few minutes away from checking you weren’t dead.” 

Misty closes her eyes again, pulling her legs closer to her and smacking her lips together tiredly. “If I had died, I woulda died one happy woman.” 

The hands that were once in her tangled hair now find Misty’s own hand and slips neatly into place. “But I’d miss you.” 

Such a statement has her floating on clouds, staring at Cordelia in complete awe and endearment. She finds herself studying each line of Cordelia’s face, leading her gaze on a journey between her beautifully delicate features. 

There’s expectantcy lingering in the short space between them, and she returns to the conversation with a series of smitten blinks. 

“Would you miss me?” Cordelia inquires playfully, beginning to trace circular patters along the porcelain skin of Misty’s arm. 

Shivering in pleasure, she grins. “I’d miss you more than anythin’. Would probably have to come back and haunt ya.” 

She chuckles. “I guess that’s better than nothing.” 

As Cordelia raises Misty’s arm and litters chaste kisses along where it’s already sensitive from her touch, Misty pokes an eye open. “Jesus, Delia – you're in the mood _again_?” She asks, referring to their post breakfast rendezvous in Cordelia’s room. Even so, she feels dormant arousal starting to stir to the surface. 

“It’s been a whole five hours,” she points out with a whine. 

Misty is lifting her head, laughing in surprise and excitement. “This is a Delia that I could get used to.” She purrs, lips finding purchase on Cordelia’s sweet neck. Her eyes widen delightfully as a hand slips her dress up above her knee and begins to tease the edge of her panties. She experiences the familiar flood of wetness at the tantalizing movements. 

She lifts her hips in response, mewling in anticipation. To her surprise, Cordelia seems all too eager to take control, something that leaves Misty weak at the knees and powerless to every one of her advancements. And yet, it’s not surprisingly at all, considering how stubborn the older blonde is. Those fingers tease her endlessly, rubbing against her lace panties – intentionally avoiding the spot that Misty needs her to touch more than anything. She purses her lips together tightly, keening towards the hand in both pleasure and frustration. Each time she tries to lean into the touch, Cordelia moves elsewhere. 

“Are you doin’ this on purpose?” she narrows her dark eyes at her, hands clutching onto Cordelia’s dress for dear life. 

The older blonde is smirking. So that’s a _yes_. 

“I hate you.” 

She is placated with an open-mouthed kiss, tongue sneaking through her parted lips and grazing against hers. A heady sensation overwhelms her, and all thoughts turn to a jumbled mess as Cordelia continues to taunt her with brushing touches. Her lower half calls out for more, _harder_. 

The sentiment must be vocalized, ‘cause Cordelia is grinning wickedly, especially as Misty grabs hold of her and yanks her as close as possible. “You are so impatient.” She says fondly. 

“I swear to god you – " 

She’s cut off with that sweet mouth on her, lips tugging and fighting for dominance as hands finally lift the barrier of her panties and meet wet folds. “God, Misty.” The way she sounds proud of mesmerized at the same time has Misty even wetter in seconds. 

Misty throws her head back, arousal seeping from her every pore and short breaths attempting to steady her frayed nerve endings. She's so stimulated that she thinks she’s just about ready to explode. 

She cries out Cordelia’s name over and over, falling off her lips like a precious song. All the while, those fingers work wonders down below, playing her like an instrument. Cordelia places her lips along Misty’s shoulders and collarbone, worshipping every inch of soft skin there, and she’s just about to give Misty what she wants, for fingers to slip inside of her, when the doorbell rings out. 

Both startle, Cordelia bolting upright faster than Misty, who takes a few seconds to blink back into reality and realize that someone is in fact at the door. She’s all for ignoring them and taking this upstairs, but when she shares that with Cordelia the woman declines, especially as the bell calls through the house again. 

Sensing Misty’s undignified appearance right now, Cordelia rises to her feet. She prisses at her hair and reaches for her cane before heading to the hallway, and Misty has to relearn the art of breathing. 

Her ears pick up the sound of Coco’s voice and Cordelia inviting her in, and she knows in an instant that she needs to make a swift exit. If Coco sees her now, with dishevelled hair and blown pupils, she’ll easily put two and two together. So, she jumps from the couch and starts a hasty retreat upstairs. 

Only, it’s the exact same time that they’re heading through the door too, and she just about throws herself straight into Cordelia. Hands steady the woman and Misty smiles apologetically, then casts a hurried hi to her friend. “I’m gonna go lie down,” she lies, features strained, “not feelin’ too good.” 

Cordelia gives a sympathetic smile, knowing all too well what Misty is suffering from, and gently rubs her arm. If anything, the touch has her nerves buzzing and the wanton ache inside of her growing. “Okay,” she says softly, kindly, but there’s the hint of a smirk. 

And with that, Misty all but runs to her room where she can release herself of this tension. It’s not as good with her own hands, but it’s certainly some damn relief. 

… 

“What are we gonna do?” 

Misty had been staring up at the ceiling as though it holds the answers to all of her difficult questions, but now she turns to Cordelia in delicate thought, worry lacing each syllable. 

It’s late, really late, but she can tell that Cordelia isn’t asleep by the irregular breathing beside her. She shifts, and spins from her side to her back, facing forward as well. She sighs, eyes remaining closed while Misty peers at her intensely through her thick lashes. 

“What do you wanna do?” 

It’s not like they haven’t discussed this course of action before, yet it always ends going around in circles. She could quit her job she thinks – that would make the most sense, but the thought of quitting the only thing she’s ever known how to do terrifies her. 

What if she isn’t happy elsewhere? What if she can’t do it? The last what if scares her the most; what if one day Cordelia decides she doesn’t want her anymore and leaves her with a broken heart and no job? She shivers horribly at such an idea, one that she knows (or prays) would never happen, but there’s always that niggling doubt. 

She frowns deeply. “I don’t know.” 

“I told you,” she insists, “you wouldn’t have to worry about money, Misty.” 

And it’s true – Cordelia's family have more money than she could even dream of, more than enough to support to two in a modest home. 

“That doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t wanna freeload off you.” 

Cordelia’s forehead scrunches together, then her jaw locks stubbornly. “I told you, you wouldn’t be!” It’s the closest thing they’ve had to a disagreement, and it leaves the Cajun more than unsettled. She reaches out for Cordelia’s hand, desperate for some reassurance. Cordelia smiles softly. “Really, you don’t need to be proud.” 

She finds herself glaring, quick to reprimand herself for it. “I just . . .I’ve always had to make my own way. I don’t wanna feel like you’re payin’ for my lifestyle.” 

“Like a sugar mom?” Cordelia cuts through the tension with the joke, earning a strangled laugh from Misty. 

“Serious, Delia.” 

“Well,” she twists again, this time facing in Misty’s direction so the Cajun can feel her hot breath sweeping across her own face. “Have you thought about other things you could do?” 

Misty shrugs, “don’t really know what I’d be good at. Plus . . . I don’t wanna go and care for someone else. I wanna be here, with you.” She reaches a hand, lovingly brushing it through Cordelia’s hair and smiling sadly as the woman softens under her touch. “And _no_ , I don’t wanna work at your mom’s law firm with you.” 

Cordelia chortles. “Why ever not?” 

“Your mom is a bitch.” 

“You can say that again,” she mutters dryly. 

“And she still calls me the _help_. I'm don't think she likes me at all.” 

She shuffles nearer, wrapping an arm over Misty’s midriff where her shirt has rolled up. “I told her not to do that.” 

She shakes her head in annoyance. “Don’t you how you work there.” 

For a few minutes, Cordelia goes quiet. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it gives me a sense of purpose again, I suppose.” Misty grows sympathetic then, eyes soft and careful as she watches Cordelia – she knows that she doesn’t particularly like the work, akin to nothing more of a secretary, but Fiona has made the office as blind friendly as possible, even going as far as buying the most expensive gadgets and software to help her only daughter. She thinks it’s the closest thing to love she’s ever witnessed from the cold woman. 

Humming in response, she lets her hand settle on Cordelia’s hairline where she softly massages the skin. 

An idea pops into her mind alongside a horrible clench in her gut, “plus, if I quit, what if your mom hires someone else to work for you? I couldn't handle that.” 

Cordelia purses her lips in distaste, clearly not caring to think about that either. 

Their silence is lasting, each trying to figure out a situation that seems all too convoluted. It’s eventually Misty who breaks it, voice quiet. 

“Do you know what I’ve always wanted?” She admits slowly, tummy filling with nerves. 

Cordelia blinks, and remains silent, but is listening with interest. 

Misty smiles. “I always thought it’d be nice to have my own flower shop. Kinda what I’ve been puttin’ money away for one day.” With a thoughtful pause, she scoffs, “though, that’d take _years_ to save up for.” 

“I could see that,” Cordelia grins wider than she’s ever seen before, “you surrounded by flowers, listening to music, talking to the customers all about which plants you think look the happiest.” Her grip on Misty tightens and her smile widens serenely. “Almost seems like that’s where you belong. That’s a good dream.” 

She suddenly grows the sense of despondency, wondering if it will always just be a dream. 

Until Cordelia gives a soft laugh after a few minutes of quiet. “Maybe I could invest.” There is seriousness in her tone, though, and it makes Misty do a double take. 

Her response is equally as genuine. “Maybe you could work there.” 

Cordelia gives pause, falling prey to the unsuspecting statement. She is suddenly pressing their bodies flush together, a leg sitting atop Misty’s and tangling them together in a way that brings a smile to the Cajun’s face. “ _Maybe_.” 

Misty grins back, heart fluttering and blood coursing through her veins in excitement. She imagines the two of them working away together, their shared knowledge and passion combining into a loving mixture. She thinks of Cordelia, smelling of freshly trimmed stems and lavender, of waking up together every morning to get ready for work. 

The prospect of _maybe_ can’t come soon enough. 

… 

Misty’s hand really fucking _hurts_. 

She sits in the small hospital room stewing in her own anger and regret (and _pain_ ) while the others look on sympathetically. It’s just Zoe and Nan sat there now, as Queenie had taken Cordelia away to grab some food for them. 

Misty ignores the stares and cradles her bruised and swollen fist. “So,” Zoe starts when the silence becomes awfully stifling, “are we gonna talk about what happened there?” 

She shrugs. 

It only does more to concern her friend, who moves closer and sits on the bed. “Misty, you just about jumped out of your chair and launched yourself on some random guy – plus, I’m pretty sure I heard something crack when you punched him.” 

Her teeth clench together at the memory, eyes growing darker with each passing second; all the while, she fights against the pressure headache developing against her temples. “He wasn’t just some guy.” 

“What?” 

“It was Cordelia’s ex,” Nan supplies from her seat in the corner of the room, as a matter of fact. 

Misty’s head snaps up. “How did you know?” 

“Heard him talking about her at the bar a few minutes before you got there.” 

If anything, this makes her even more enraged, ready to stand up and go for round two. “You mean, he _knew_ she was there?” 

Nan nods, “apparently so.” 

“ _That fucking asshole!_ ” 

Between them, Zoe peers on in confusion. “Wait, what is going on?” 

“Misty was defending her honor.” 

“ _No_ ,” she’s quick to snap. “Well, sort of.” Misty shifts her gaze to Zoe, who looks on with curiosity shining in her brown eyes. “He shouldn’t have been there – she has a restraining order against him.” 

“Holy fuck, are you serious?” 

She nods grimly, wincing at a sudden pang of pain. “That dick must have done this on purpose.” Suddenly, she’s overcome with that fury once more, having to bounce her leg to try and expel some of the energy that accompanies it. 

It only gets worse as the doctor finally arrives, greeting the weary group. By now Queenie and Cordelia are with them, but their chatter soon stops upon his arrival. “I have some bad news I’m afraid.” He speaks to her, peering through her chart. “It appears you’ve broken two of your knuckles, Miss Day. Whatever you were punching, you hit it with some force.” 

At that, she resists a proud smile. 

She’s so deep in thought about what damage she hopes she’s done to Hank that she misses the next few sentences. She blinks back into the room. “Huh?” 

“I said you’ll have to have a splint on three of your fingers, and then a brace on your hand. We’ll get you back in a couple of weeks and see how it’s all healing.” 

She nods along, but can’t help feeling defeated at the news, especially as when her hand is all ready to go, she can barely move any of it. “This sucks.” she mumbles to the group as Nan writes her discharge papers for her. 

Her sinking feeling gets even worse when she can’t even drive herself and Cordelia back home, instead being dropped off by Zoe. “Try to have a good night,” she offers with a small laugh, waving them off. 

“I just wanna go to bed,” she mumbles pathetically, swinging her bag over her shoulder and letting Cordelia link arms with her. She has a small hissy fit when she can’t get the key in the door with her left hand, only for Cordelia to take over with a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder. 

She, too, has seemed awfully quiet since Hank’s appearance, something that bothers Misty to no end. The idea of him causing her any more trauma is enough to have her ready for round two, even with the pain meds sending her into a drowsy loop. Tension and annoyance are carried in her every muscle, but then there are caring hands on her and everything seems okay again. 

Sleep no longer is no longer of interest to her, so Cordelia takes her to the kitchen with assurances of making her some sort of tea that she swears will make her feel better. She only watches on with slumped shoulders. 

“Thank you, you know.” 

Misty peers at her curiously. “For?” She drawls out. 

“You know what.” She says softly, then adds with a grin. “I only wish I could have seen his face when you punched it.” 

If Misty didn’t feel appreciated enough, Cordelia is suddenly littering her face with kisses, every so often pulling apart to share words of praise and love. She reaches out blindly, fingers grazing with the uttermost care over Misty’s brace. “Does it hurt?” 

She nods. “Yeah, a little. The meds are helping.” 

Cordelia pulls her in for another searing kiss, then grins and bites her lip. “I’ll get you that tea.” 

“Shouldn’t it be me looking after you?” she teases. 

“No, you are my knight in shining armor tonight.” Cordelia purrs from a distance, doing wonderful work at filling the hollow space inside the Cajun’s right now. “You are gonna get everything you deserve.” 

Despite the shitty night, Misty suddenly thinks she might be the luckiest woman in the world. 

… 

Unfortunately, attacking so called strangers in bars doesn’t come without consequences, and Misty soon finds herself somewhere she never thought she’d be. 

Sat in Fiona Goode’s office with the woman stoically sat across from the woman herself, panicking that her frenzied actions could set her up with a ton of legal implications. 

“He says it was an unprovoked attack.” Fiona reads from the police report, “resulting in hospitalization and dental fees.” 

She glances to her own brace. “He’s not the only one who got hurt.” She mumbles. 

“You only broken your knuckles because of that thick skull of his, whereas the result of his injuries was your intention.” Fiona glances across to her, beady eyes boring into Misty in a way that leaves her dangerously unsettled. 

Fretting is all she can do right now, ‘cause she hadn’t intended to so completely lose control of herself. It had been nothing but a knee jerk reaction, though one that she thinks she’d do over and over if she had to. “Do you think he’s got a case?” She gulps. 

Those aged lines on Fiona’s face are full of experience, her stare growing in intensity. She’s a formidable woman; it’s clear to see why she makes such a successful lawyer. “A case? Hah - I could get this thrown out of court with my eyes closed. I just have to read it to you for legal reasons.” 

Right, she thinks, ‘cause somehow Cordelia convinced her mother to represent Misty free of charge on something she knows is morally wrong yet felt so right. And looking to Fiona Goode, she certainly doesn’t seem like the kind of woman to do such an act from the kindness of her heart, leaving Misty frowning in thought. 

Fiona abandons the papers onto the table and folds her hands together. “Hank Foxx is a scoundrel of a man who caused grievous bodily harm to another person - now he’s broken the rules of his restraining order, whether this maggot insists he wasn’t aware she was there or not. You merely gave him what was coming to him.” 

Misty winces as she tries to wrap her head around Fiona’s words. “So, I’m not gonna go to jail?” 

“Jail?” she laughs, ”hun, you wouldn’t last two minutes in there.” 

She glares now, her expression countering that of the older woman sat in front of her, whose eyes settle with interest. “Why exactly did you do it, Misty?” And it’s so strange to be referred to by her first name that she doesn’t response for a second. Plus, the question has her dumbfound. 

“He shouldn’t have been there,” she eventually says. 

“You could have called the cops and sent him on his merry way.” 

She reaches for a cigarette now, lighting it and leaning back in her seat as she takes a long drag. “Not as fun, but just as effective.” 

“He didn’t deserve somethin’ so good.” 

“Oh,” she smacks her lips together thoughtfully, surely with wicked ideas going on behind those eyes, “I can think of a lot of that that boy deserves, none of which are lawful, of course.” For once, Misty well and truly agrees with her. 

“So why you do you wanna know?” 

“Seems odd, to take such a big risk for someone.” 

Her jaw locks, and her body stiffens. “Cordelia is my friend.” 

“ _Friend_.” Her lips wrap around the words with a smirk. “Do you think I’m stupid?” Misty doesn’t answer. She thinks Fiona is a lot of things, but stupid is certainly not one of them. “Oh, so we’re going to act demure then?” She raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

Fiona shakes her head softly in disbelief, smirking the entire time. “For Christ’s sake, you are just as bad as my daughter.” 

She bristles defensively, only to be calmed as Fiona raises a hand in mock surrender. “Don’t get angry,” she says, “I don’t mean to offend.” 

“Then what _do_ you mean?” 

Another drag of the cigarette, and Misty watches the smoke rise higher against the white ceiling, then back down to where Fiona has settled her chin neatly on her hand. “You think I don’t see the way you look at Cordelia? You think I don’t know what love looks like?” 

Her eyes flash open slightly and her free hand begins to ball up nervously, palm growing hot with sweat. She knows any attempt to deny it will end up fruitlessly, yet she Isn't ready to out her and Cordelia, not when she knows the consequences it will bring. Maybe the decision is no longer with her, though. 

Misty’s silence says it all, leaving Fiona to heave in a big sigh, smoke retreating back through her lips. “I thought so,” she insists smugly. “Gotta hand it to you, I thought Delia was doomed to be drawn to unattractive layabouts all her life.” Fiona points a bony finger her way and gestures up and down. "This is a certainly an improvement.” 

She only stares in confusion, mouth running dry as the desert and eyes questioning. 

“Oh, don’t sit there with your mouth hanging open. You look like an idiot.” 

Slapping her lips closed again, she frowns. “I'm sorry. I don’t understand.” She tilts her head in thought, “I broke an oath – I crossed a line that I should never have . . . I – " 

“Does she make you happy?” 

Once again, Fiona leaves her sitting flustered as though she’s just asked her to recite the entre pi formula. But she manages to muster one word. “ _Yes_.” 

“And,” she starts, voice taking on more care and emotion than she’s heard in the entire few months that Misty has known her, “do you make her happy?” 

“I . . .” Her heart clenches at the thought, weeping tentative joy. “I think so.” 

Fiona smiles, a real _genuine_ smile that has no edge of malice or ulterior motive and rocks Misty to her very core. “Then fuck oaths,” she says. 

Misty’s own smile grows, daring and relieved. 

Until the next words follow. “But you haven’t exactly made it easy for me. I’m not paying you to sleep with my daughter.” 

She glares then, teeth grinding so much that she might need dental work after this. “I don’t -” 

A raised hand stops her in her tracks. Misty’s eyes follow as the cigarette is now crushed harshly into the ash tray, leaving a pungent and horrid scent in its wake. Her nose scrunches up, and her eyes return to Fiona. “You understand the position I’m in?” 

Her shoulders slump, dejection beginning to tug at her features as she panics over her future. Misty nods reluctantly. 

“Are you going to tell the company?” 

There's a long thoughtful pause as Fiona contemplates her options, her mouth moving and twitching in a way that reminds Misty of a reptile. She purses her lips together, keeping that thought within as she waits, inching closer to the edge of her seat. 

Fiona gives a decisive headshake. “No, I don’t think so.” All the stale air suddenly expels from her lungs, yet she attempts to keep her expression steady for fear of appearing weak in front of this woman. 

She can feel something else coming, and so she waits, her free hand fidgeting with the edge of the desk in front of her. 

“I am going to have to dismiss you, though.” 

Misty expects that to say the least, yet rather than dread filling her insides, she’s surprised at the enormous sense of _relief_. She feels like a caged bird about to experience the sky for the first time, the very uplifting sensation bringing a smile to her lips. 

Fiona continues, unaware of the elation Misty is currently swimming in. “I’ll give you a full recommendation, if you need – " 

“No, that’s fine.” She cuts across, still beaming. “I'm gonna quit anyway.” 

Suddenly all those fears she’d once considered now feel miniscule to the future she could have, and it’s definitely a future that she wants. The decision no longer needs fretting over, or sleepless nights to welcome its conflict. It all seems so easy in that moment as she sits across from the mother of the woman she loves, a realization that has her legs shaking with untapped energy and heart desperately crying out for one person. 

She peers up to Fiona, eyes brimming with love in the form of overwhelmed tears. “Can I go now?” 

Although surprised by her sudden switch in emotion, she seems to understand it at least, and she nods. “I’ll call you about the case, but don’t worry.” 

She nods, grateful, and rushes toward the door, feeling eyes on her the entire time. 

At the door she stops, a niggling thought beckoning her back to Fiona. Twisting on the spot, she finds that intense glower remains strong in her direction. She gulps nervously, then summons the courage to say the next few words. 

“Cordelia doesn’t need another person to look after her, you know.” 

“Oh.” Her eyes glisten with interest, “and why is that?” 

Misty gives a firm nod. “She’s stronger than you think. She didn’t even need me, not really.” But, she thinks with a growing smile, she _chose_ her, and that’s something altogether better. 

Fiona regards her with that intense glower, jaw line tight and eyes hard. "Noted."

She's supposes that response is better than nothing, and with that, she makes her swift exit. 

Misty knows the way to Cordelia’s office like the back of her hand, and wobbly legs carry her in the familiar direction. When she knocks and pokes her head around the corner, she finds Cordelia lost in space, clearly too preoccupied to do any working. “It’s me,” she drawls out, barely about to keep the sudden elation from her words. 

It’s contagious, the worry seeping from Cordelia only to be usurped by unbridled relief. “Everything okay?” 

“It's amazin’” she says, stepping further in and reaching Cordelia in long strides, “more than amazin’” 

“Really?” She spins in her chair, grinning and eyebrow peaking. 

“Yeah, your mom fired me.” Misty beams, then ducks down so they’re face to face, breathing in their mixed auras of joy. “And I’m in love with you.” She leans forward, placing an adoring kiss to the corner of Cordelia’s mouth. 

Cordelia freezes under her touch, hands gripping on Misty’s upper arms as she tugs herself back to frown at her. “ _What_?” 

She rolls on her feet excitedly, rivelling the energy of a child on a sugar high. “Fiona fired me.” 

“And,” Cordelia chokes out, “what was that other part?” 

Misty nuzzles their noses together, her actions loving and fond, and not needing to be hidden anymore. “I love you, Delia.” She mumbles against pink skin, “I love everything about you.” Her arms hook around Cordelia’s shoulder and rein her back in toward the Cajun. “Will you be my girlfriend?” 

It’s a lot of information to take in such a short time, but eventually Cordelia digests every fondly spoken word and blinks into a response. Her touch tightens on Misty, smile growing with daring hope. “You don’t work for me anymore?” she asks gleefully. 

Misty shakes her head no. 

“And . . . you love me?” 

She gives a firm nod. 

Cordelia wastes no time then, grabbing the collar of Misty’s dress and tugging her forward for the most searing kiss, as though combining their souls into one soppy, loving mess. Misty all but loses herself in their feel of those lips, mind losing all thought and focuses only on the way this feels so perfect. 

A tear tickles the middle of her cheek, and she tears herself away reluctantly to see its source is Cordelia. “Sorry,” she utters, wiping frantically at the skin with shaking fingers. 

Misty moves them like a doting mother, her own thumb catching the next tears that threaten to fall. “Why are you cryin’?" she whispers. 

Face crumpling with emotion, Cordelia lets out a shuddery sigh. “I l – love you too.” All too quickly, she’s in the Cajun’s arms again, staying there until time is just a foreign notion that doesn’t apply to them. 

Their consummate their confessions with shared kisses, on forehead, on necks, while their fingers interlace and refuse to let go. 

“And _yes_ ,” Cordelia eventually breathes, “I will be your girlfriend.” 

She thinks this may be the best day ever. 

… 

They celebrate the night with their favorite take out and homemade cocktails for Cordelia, indulging themselves until Cordelia is drunkenly hiccupping next to her and Misty feels lightheaded with giddiness every time she dares to stand. 

She watches as Cordelia’s sloppy sip leaves a trail of drink along the corner of her mouth, reaching forward to close in a graze of her tongue along the sweet liquid. It’s a bold move, met by an equally bold smirk and arms pulling her in closer while mewling her name. 

Who is she to refuse? 

… 

Handing in her resignation brings another cause for celebration, and this time they decide to invite their friends. It’s strange to be in a restaurant this time; initially Cordelia had been worried about eating in front of a whole room, but gentle reassurances from her girlfriend (Misty _loves_ saying that) brings her enough confidence. 

She manages in not spilling her food all down herself, as Misty has insisted over and over, and when the meal ends, the group migrate to a bar. 

Cordelia links arms with her, leaning in closer and wrapping Misty’s shawl over her shoulders tighter as the winter chill settles around them. She grins, besotted at the sight of her in it. 

The bar brings with it music and more drinks for the other. Misty, still on pain meds, can only watch with interest at the drunken state of the group as it deteriorates. 

“What are you gonna do now?” Zoe asks her curiously as she nurses a vodka and coke. Her eyes are wide and cheeks flush, but there’s still an intelligent glint behind the expression. 

Misty shrugs, smiling down at where her and Cordelia’s hands are connected. She’s seen her friends glances all night, though has left it to their own imaginations – they don’t need some big announcement to let the world know they’re together. As long as they know, that’s all that matters. “Guess I’m just gonna see what happens?” 

It’s strange, how that statement no longer scares her. The same can’t be said for her friends. 

“Girl, you don’t have a plan?” Queenie leans, voice hinting at concern. 

She shakes her head. 

Maddison smirks. “Walmart are always hiring.” 

“That’s okay, Maddy. Wouldn’t wanna end up being your manager.” 

The words having Cordelia giggling behind her fingers and falling backwards against Misty’s chest. She steadiest her awkwardly with her braced arm, that same arm that does so remaining wrapped tightly around the woman. 

She decides she’s had enough of the serious talk and tugs at her girlfriend. “C’mon, let’s go dance.” 

There is little resistance from the older blonde, only knowing and “ _finally_ ” looks from her group of friends, to which she only responds with her own proud beam. 

In the centre of the dance floor, the pair find their stride easily. Their torsos move in synch with one another, at this point well versed in every small nook and curve in each respective body. With her hands anchored on Cordelia’s shoulders, and the other woman’s arms around her hips, they sway and move fluidly, not caring if they match the rhythm of the song. As long as they move in unison, that’s the only thing Misty cares about. 

Cordelia leans in closer, catching her off guard with a wanting kiss that sends a shiver deep into her core. 

It’s awfully tempting to take her home and have her way with her. 

But then she spies the other girls not too far from them on the dance floor, with Madison and Nan making obscene gestures at them with a wicked grin. Zoe quickly pulls their hands down and mouths an apology to Misty. 

Needless to say, her mood is ruined in that moment. Still, she enjoys the feel of Cordelia propped against her, skin on skin and hands moving from hips to cup Misty’s ass. She wonders if she should worry about others being able to see, and quickly decides that she really doesn’t give a crap. Besides, the thought of Cordelia marking her territory is super hot, so when she feels lips sucking at the sensitive skin on her neck, she struggles with the resurgence of arousal. 

They’re the first ones to leave, bidding their adieu when she notices Cordelia’s energy levels faltering around one am. Her stubbornness means she tries to keep up with the younger girls, but it’s a battle she often loses. 

Fresh air sobers the pair as they wait for their cab, sat with legs swinging over the edge of the wall outside the club. Cordelia laughs at nothing in particular, so hard that she’s clutching her ribs like they might break, then grabbing hold of Misty for support. 

When she quiets, the throbbing sound of the bass floods from the bar doors, and both sit contently. 

“What _are_ you planning on doing?” Cordelia blurts out, cheeks pink and words slightly slurred from her inebriation. 

She clicks her tongue playfully. “Thought you were gonna be my sugar momma?” 

Cordelia’s mouth twists like she’s _thinking_ about it, much to Misty’s shock ( _and_ _arousal_ ). 

Turns out, she’s thinking about something else entirely. 

“Do you still need an investor for that flower shop?” 

And Misty only stares, ‘cause she doesn’t physically remember how to form words and she’d never expect anything like that from Cordelia. She’d never even suggest it, always having been brought up reaping the rewards of her own hard work, no matter the pittance that she’s paid for it sometimes. 

Her shock bubbles into humor, chuckling at Cordelia for saying such a silly thing. “You’re drunk,” she accuses. 

“I’m serious, Misty.” 

The way she speaks with such authority, turning to her with tight features and eyebrows knitting together, it enough to have Misty stilling. 

Laughter dies on her lips, the reality settling in. “ _Delia_. . .” 

“Don’t ‘delia’ me,” she playfully nudges their shoulders, though does little to stop the nervous energy radiating off of her. 

She sucks in a sharp breath, “It’d cost thousands of dollars.” 

“And?” 

“ _And_ ,” she emphasises, “I can’t ask that of you.” 

Hands squeeze hers, then a loving smile meets her eyes. “You don’t have to ask.” 

Any responses she needs to come up with are saved when the cab arrives, and she ushers Cordelia in with a gentle, but trembling hand. Both are quiet in the ride back, and even as the house welcomes them back. Misty continues to chew on her lip thoughtfully, so lost in her mind that she barely registers the walk upstairs, or their night time routine, or even when Cordelia is tugging her onto the bed. 

She leans tiredly into her side, eyes closing and head tilting towards Misty’s so their blonde hair splays out together in a pretty display. 

Turning to her, she succumbs to a hopeful smile. “I got one condition.” 

“Huh?” Cordelia twists, half asleep and stares dumbly in her general direction. 

“If you’re gonna to invest,” she reiterates, “there is a condition.” 

“Hmmmm?” 

Misty kisses at her hairline lovingly. “You’ve gotta be my business partner.” 

Beaming with pride, she nods and sleepily replies with a “sure”. 

This causes her to laugh, especially when she’s curling against Misty like a cat and falling into an easy slumber. Misty doesn’t, instead choosing to watch her for a good while, appreciating every noise that falls from her lips. 

She grins. They can finish this conversation in the morning. 


End file.
